


Winter Shadow

by BromeliadLucy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hydra (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-10 11:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10436523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BromeliadLucy/pseuds/BromeliadLucy
Summary: Where the Winter Soldier was hidden in the dark, she was behind him, his shadow. The ghost’s shadow. Winter Shadow





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt given by Pixierox101 on Tumblr - thank you <3
> 
> I hope this isn't too crap.

It was like a ballet, watching them together. They moved in perfect synchrony, every move complementing the other in a dance to the death. They didn’t speak, they didn’t need to. Decades of training, of suffering, had left them connected in a way that no one could break. They circled each other, back-to-back but aware of the other’s every move, ready to defend, to attack, to win.

They had their roles, each knowing their place on this mission. He was there to break, to destroy, to kill, to create mayhem and fear. She was there to infiltrate, to penetrate the unbreakable, to leave slow devastation in her wake, chaos that would insinuate itself into computer systems, into people’s minds. Each knew their role, and supported the other.

Like a two-headed beast, they quickly took down the operatives, no-one able to withstand their joint power. Barely breathing heavily, he took up a defensive stance at the door, gun raised, hands steady, ready to protect at any cost. Sliding past, she broke into the systems, stole weapons blueprints, confidential files, inserted viruses that would slide their way through firewalls.

Then they were gone. She was always a step behind him, so when he turned and shot out the security camera, she was still inside the door, unseen. He was a rumour, a ghost story for the intelligence community to scare themselves with; every assassination, every attack, laid at his door. The Winter Soldier. And while he was a ghost story, she was something even slighter. A whisper on the wind. The Soldier’s companion. Never caught on camera. No survivors left to tell the tale. Just hints – two sets of footprints tracked through blood, bodies in two separate places, a puzzle for CSI to try and unravel. Where the Winter Soldier was hidden in the dark, she was behind him, his shadow. The ghost’s shadow. Winter Shadow.

-

So many decades they’d been together now that neither could remember a time without the other. They’d been reborn from forgotten lives as assassins in a Hydra chamber, growing and training and surviving together, as close as twins. And together, after each mission, they were wiped, re-trained, re-born, together.

After the mission in Bern, they’d set out to return to base. It was dark out, but they kept to the shadows. The comms unit had been broken during the fight, no way to call for transport, and they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves by stealing a car. They were used to walking, to ignoring their physical needs and continuing on, pushing themselves, but even a serum-enhanced body eventually needs to rest. They found an unused ski lodge, quiet out of season, and broke in. Five hours they’d been walking, after the fight. Both had wounds, torn muscles. Five hours, and neither had spoken.

Keeping the lights off, they drew curtains, shut blinds. She searched the building for medical supplies, finding bandages, antiseptic, everything that was needed to recover from ski injuries, now used for something more serious. He was checking the kitchen, finding dried food, cans, enough left over to keep them going, no thought for what it would taste like, purely focussed on supplying their physical needs.

They met again in the lodge lounge. He had two bowls, unheated food emptied in. She had a box of supplies. They ate first, silently, then both stripped, tending to each other’s injuries. A knife wound here, a moment of carelessness letting someone through. The knifeman hadn’t lasted long after that. Broken glass embedded in the skin, from broken windows and bulbs. They didn’t see each other’s nakedness, functional touches gliding over each other’s flesh, taking turns to clean and bandage. Each was a weapon, and needed to be left ready for use.

Re-dressing when the job was finished, they sat on the couch quietly, testing and flexing worn muscles, easing aches with slight stretches. More than six hours now since the mission had completed, six hours of silence. Tomorrow there would be more walking, keeping to the quiet places, back to the base, to the chair, to the pain, to the cold.

She turned her head, eyes calculating and cold, stared at the man beside her. His head turned as well, drawn to her movement. The moonlight flashed in his eyes as he moved and he saw the killing glance in her eyes. Then he saw something that only he would ever see, something she didn't dare let anyone see. Softness. She spoke now.

“What do you remember?”

Four words was all it took to trigger a different side to the Winter Soldier. Ten words to bring out the assassin, four words to bring back the man. There were so few times when she could ask them, when they were alone and not being used, not weapons.

His shoulders dropped, muscles softened, his head dropped and his breathing deepened. He wasn’t who he had once been, and he wasn’t the Winter Soldier, he was something in between.

“Just a little. There was a picture, on the desk at that SHIELD base. One of the techs, with a man. I knew the man.” His eyes turned to hers as he spoke, and she could see the confusion in them, had seen it for years now as he tried to piece together a broken mind. “The picture was signed. I knew the writing, and the name.”

“What did it say?” She knew his senses well enough. Even as he’d been fighting, killing the man in the picture, he would have taken it all in. Every detail, recorded, hyper-aware of his surroundings.

“‘Matthew, thanks for all the good you do, Steve Rogers’,” he paused, spoke again more slowly. “Steve Rogers. I know that name. And the man in the picture, I knew him.” There was so much pain in his voice, there always was, as his mind fought back against the brainwashing, against the memory wipes, as years of half-broken recollections swam through his brain. So many Hydra-wipes over the years, and they had stopped working fully. Neurons made new connections, hiding memories away from the wipes, the brain protecting itself. Each time, new memories would float to the surface, triggered by sight and sound and smell. Sometimes something so insignificant it barely figured, the smell of bread, the sound of a door creaking, too wide-ranging to have meaning.

“This one was different. I’ve seen him before,” he said, and his voice was uncertain, not trusting his own mind not to play tricks. She knew how much this hurt him, when the memories came back. Sometimes it was easier to just be the Winter Soldier, to act unknowing and uncaring, but it wasn’t to be. He was tormented by the moments that came back to him, that made him realise he was once more than a weapon. His body sagged and she did what she always did when they found themselves alone, unmonitored, wrapping her arms around him, drawing him close to her. He was much bigger than her, but he curled into the touch, his head on her chest, one flesh arm and one metal snaking around her waist and clinging on with desperation. Seventy years of pain and guilt were weighing him down, an exquisite form of torture that even Hydra couldn’t have foreseen.

She pushed against his head with her cheek until he looked up, and his gaze turned from one of pain to desire. She let her body move against his, knowing that he needed this, a distraction and respite from the remorse and the recall of who he used to be. He was hungry for the escape, turning to her and pulling at her clothes, and she was glad to be there, to be able to save him, even if only for a night.


	2. Chapter 2

They woke at dawn wrapped around each other, bare skin cold in the unheated lodge. No time, or need, for words: they would be expected at the base and lateness would be punished. They both dressed, strained and tired muscles complaining at the movement but disregarded, pain too familiar a companion to attend to.

He led the way, as always, out onto the hillside, skirting the treeline to stay out of view of early risers, but there was no one around. They walked for four hours in silence before stopping to drink from a meltwater stream coming down the mountainside. The sun was hot on their backs now, the cool water a blessing as they cupped their hands and poured it over their heads.

They were used to spending time together without talking, their connection not needing words, more primal than language, so she was surprised when he spoke her name as they walked off. He stopped, and waited for her to catch up from her customary position a pace behind. Walking side-by-side felt unfamiliar but comfortable, as if there was a half-forgotten memory of walking down a woodland path with someone once. She watched him, waiting to see what he needed to say.

“I can’t get that picture out of my mind. The man. Steve Rogers,” he said, brows furrowed as he tried to delve up a memory. She didn’t speak, waiting while his thoughts ran around his head. “It’s an itch in my brain, I should know…” He stopped on the path, rubbed his eyes frantically with the heel of his hands then ran hands through his hair. She’d never seen him quite so tormented by a memory before. “I can’t remember, I can’t hold it all together, I just…can’t.”

He let his hands drop by his side and looked at her, his eyes shining with tears of frustration. “I can’t, not any of it.”

With one step, she was close enough to reach him and pull him against her. His hands gripped the front of her uniform as if afraid she’d run away. She could feel his jaw clenching where his head rested against her shoulder. Each failed memory wipe left him more broken than the last, tantalising glimpses of a past that wouldn’t come together to form a whole, and she knew he was finding it harder to hold on to himself each time. The trigger words still forced his compliance, against his will, but each time the partial memories came back a little more.

“I’ll look,” she said, and he turned his head up questioningly. “Next time I’m on a tech job. We’ll remember the name, and I’ll look.” He drew in a steadying breath and nodded at her, then turned instantly, face cold again, and set off.

-

Reaching the Hydra base, they were instantly separated. Stripped down, wounds were given a cursory examination but dismissed as minor. They were each hosed down, left cold and dripping, before being thrust into adjacent cells, new uniforms delivered. She pulled the clothes onto damp skin, feeling them stick but glad of the slight warmth they gave, then sat down on the thin bed and waited. Next door, she could tell he was doing the same.

They came for him first, three soldiers to subdue one man, armed with electric cattle prods. Years before they had tried taunting and goading him at this point, hoping for a reaction so they could bring him to his knees but this was too routine now, a mundane job that needed to be done. As he walked past the front of her cell, his head turned towards her. His eyes were in shadow but they always looked. Sometimes it felt that if they forgot each other, they would cease to exist at all.

He followed the soldiers to the chamber, and as always they left the door open so that she could hear. His pain ensured her compliance, this was the game they all played. If she resisted anything that happened to her, the punishment would be enacted on him. It worked both ways, if he failed to comply with orders, it would be taken out on her. Simple but effective. They were too closely connected now to be able to bear the other’s pain.

She heard the questioning begin, the usual debrief. Any hesitation, any suggestion of independent thought, would be jumped on and punished. This was also too familiar. He was too clever for them, setting out the parameters of the mission, the number of kills, the comms breakdown, the ski lodge, all in a dispassionate voice. No mention of their relationship, no mention of the photo, of Steve Rogers. The talking ended, and she closed her eyes as she pictured the next stage. The straps to the chair, the helmet, the mouth guard. Through closed eyelids she saw the flash of blue light, heard his grunts of pain, then silence. A moment later, and he was walking back past her cell, eyes straight ahead. Ready to comply.

Now it was her turn. The same three soldiers, she was no less deadly than the Winter Soldier. Then into the chamber, to stand and wait until they were ready.

The questions were similar to his. What had they done, how many dead, what had she extracted? They’d already taken the data files she’d brought back with her, examining them. She never knew much about what she collected in her silent work, didn’t want to know, didn’t care. It was enough that if she complied, he would be OK. It was a compulsion in her, one that she couldn’t escape.

Eventually the debrief ended and then she was backed into the chair, a soldier on either side strapping her down. The leather straps and buckles dug into her arms, and she knew later she would look at the red marks and wonder what had caused them. The mouth guard was inserted, the helmet lowered, pushing hair into her eyes and making her blink. Then a needle into her arm and the cold flooding of the IV push, then the blue light, then the pain.

When she was next aware, she was in her cell, sitting on the edge of the bed. Back straight, feet planted firmly on the floor, a position that could be held for hours, until she was next needed for anything. She didn’t move, but let the tendrils of her consciousness return. An ache in her arm made her look down and she saw a dark puncture mark on the inside of her elbow, staring at it without interest, unconcerned as to how it had got there. She let her mind explore her body, noticing a cut on her arm, a splinter under one nail – a pine needle, the dull throb of a bruise knotting on her leg. Her tongue felt swollen and she realised she was thirsty, had no sense of how long it had been since she had last drunk, had no memory of having ever drunk before. Her eyes skirted the cell and saw a tap at the back. She stood, muscles straining, suggesting she had been sitting for many hours, and moved stiffly to the tap. She had no memory of ever learning what one was, or how it worked, but knew to turn it, a cold stream of water falling directly onto the floor, splashing across onto her feet. She knelt on the wet floor and tilted her head under the stream, catching the water with her mouth and feeling it slide icily across her face.  
The cold sensation and the refreshing drink helped bring her back to her senses. Gaps in the memory haunted her, she remembered going somewhere, and a fight, but couldn’t connect the pieces. She remembered a hillside, a building. She remembered him. Then it all came back. It was the same every time, she would forget everything, except for him, the world rebuilding itself around his image. She remembered Hydra allowing them these memories of each other, so that they could work together, not suspecting that there was more to their connection than the fight. Each knew they had to hide that from Hydra, or it would be wiped as well.

She drank more water, then stood and moved back to the bed. A metal tray on the floor near the cell door held food, slabs of protein. She crouched and picked the tray up, biting off part of the dry food and chewing it, a sudden sharp pain suggesting a broken tooth. The food finished the job of clearing her head. She remembered the lodge, the night, the man’s name. Memories that needed to be hidden, memories that revolved around him, the Winter Soldier, and so survived the wipe along with their memories of each other as a team. She schooled her face to blankness again and lay down on the bed.

-

Sometimes after a mission, he would be put into cryofreeze, sometimes she would, sometimes both. On rare occasions they would both be kept awake. This was a rare pleasure that Hydra couldn’t understand, to be awake, together. The cold fear of the cryofreeze was something she would never shake, the moment when the ice froze in her lungs before she lost consciousness always one of utter terror, each breath impossible as ice crystals solidified in her veins. She would try to shout, unable to move, her mind always the last piece of her to shut down, as she experienced her body freeze. There was only terror there. Today though, it seemed there were more missions to come, soon enough that cryo was a waste of time, and so she lay, alive and awake.

It always took the Winter Soldier longer than her to come to after being wiped, seventy years of wipes leaving his brain more broken than hers, and taking longer to put back together. This was where she came in, when she wasn’t in cryo. She gave it time, then still lying on the bed, turned towards the wall, moving her face until it was almost touching the brick. She half-closed her eyes, feigning sleep, aligning her body so that anyone walking past wouldn’t be able to see her face, then slowly moved her body towards the ventilation brick. She could just see through it, see the back of a grey vest stretched over broad muscles, sitting upright on the bed as she had been. She whispered his name though the hole but there was no response. Shifting closer, she whispered again.

“James.”

She saw his shoulders move in surprise, then relax again.

“James. You need to drink.”

Another jump, then his mind, as compliant as a child’s, unsurprised by the disembodied voice in this world of confusing sensations, agreed. His head turned and he rose and walked towards the tap. She heard the water hit the concrete floor, then pause as his mouth went underneath it. A long drink, then the tap was turned off.

“James. You need to eat James. Food, on the floor.”

The routine after a wipe was always the same, making this recovery easier for her to manage. His body moved into view, through the holes in the brick, then out again, and she heard the scrape of a metal tray on the floor then the sound of the bedframe creaking as he sat back down.

“Eat the food, James. Eat it now.”

A few minutes later, and then his shoulder appeared in her view as he lay down on the bed, just the other side of the wall. So close but separated by brick, these tiny holes their only contact. He rolled towards her and suddenly his eyes, storm-grey and cloudy, were in front of her, all she could see through the bricks.

“Shadow? I’m here.”


	3. Chapter 3

He was all she had, and she was all he had, and she was always torn by her need to help him, and to keep him. As his memories returned, piece by agonising piece, he was desperate to fit them together, to remember who he was, to have her help him hold on to himself, before he was lost again. He was so afraid to rediscover his identity, to remember a past before all the pain he’d felt, and the pain he’d caused, but he needed to. The more fragments reappeared, the more he wanted to know. Each time they used his trigger words and he lost himself for a little while, she knew how much it hurt, that when the memories returned they would be tinged with the sorrow of what he had done. Although his actions were out of his control, although he was a victim of the most horrific abuse, she knew that each memory was a stain of guilt that no one could remove, but all the more reason for him to want to find who he was, to be more than the killer they’d made him.  
But she knew as well, that if he could find himself, recreate himself from the scraps that he had, he would leave. Leave, or die. He had never said as much but she knew that when the moment came, he would find the strength to run, and then she would have nothing. Despite this, she helped him. She wanted him to be happy, she needed him to be whole, that was her guiding force, her everything.

So how do you put someone together when they have been broken and taken apart over decades? Like an archaeologist, starting from the tiniest pieces, testing them against each other, fitting them together slowly. Some pieces would be missing forever, a gaping hole in the fabric that you’re creating, but you hope that there are enough pieces left to make something solid, something stable, able to stand on its own. That was what she was doing with the Winter Soldier. From fragments of memory, rebuilding the man behind the horrors. 

They were left alone in their cells now that they had been fed and wiped, the soldiers expecting them to sleep off the pain and be quiescent, but they were so used to the wipes by now that they recovered quickly, and so this was their time, time to talk. Voices low, faces pressed as close to the wall as possible, only inches apart but unable to touch. She pressed her hands against the wall as if she could push her way through to him.

“There was a man, wasn’t there?” he asked, testing out the memories that had survived the wipe.

“A photo, yes, you said you recognised him, you recognised his name,” she said, leaving a space to see if he could find the name. She saw him frown through the wall as he thought.

“Steve… Steve… Rogers?” she nodded, the memory having come back to her more easily, her brain having been twisted less often than his.

“Do you remember where you knew him?” He shook his head and she heard him sigh with frustration.

“Nothing. Just this feeling, he was… important? He meant something. But I don’t even know if he was important because I hated him or loved him.”

His eyes disappeared as he rolled onto his back, arms crossed over his eyes, frustrated. She lay still, waited, and after a moment he rolled back towards her.

“Shadow, you said you’d look? See what you can find?”

“I will. It won’t be long. They haven’t put us into cryo again, so there must be another mission due. If I can get access to a computer, I’ll search for him.”

Although she couldn’t see his face, she saw his eyes change and knew he was smiling at her. She felt a wave of calm sweep over her, body relaxing, knowing that just for a moment he was OK. This was important, it mattered to her that he was well.

They talked further as it grew darker, reminding each other of the memories they had recovered over time, a shared recollection, each prompt setting off another. 

“I remembered a rollercoaster, before. Wind in my hair, people shouting and laughing.”

“You did. And you remembered someone called Dot was there.”

“Dot…” he tested the word out, rolling it around in his mouth, “no, that one’s gone.”

“You said she was the prettiest girl you’d seen,” she said, unable to hide a tinge of bitterness in her voice, and he picked up on it. Just for a moment, she heard him laugh, a sound so unusual, so rare, it was like a treasure.

“Well I’d never met you then Shadow,” he said, and she pressed her forehead against the concrete, wanting to capture the words and keep them. The more his memories returned, the more he found himself, his real self, in the peaceful space between wipes and trigger words. The real Soldier must have been a smooth talker, charming his way through life, but she didn’t care, holding onto the words as eventually they fell into sleep.

-

The mission came sooner than expected. They were woken the next day, guns banging against metal bars, the sound harsh and shocking to the quiet of sleep. He was taken first, manhandled along the corridor, his face turning to hers but a soldier blocking his view. She held onto the bars, her head turned sideways as he turned his head over his shoulder, desperate for eye contact but there were too many bodies in the way. They turned a corner and he was gone, and she hadn’t seen his face. She knew it was a ritual that meant nothing but couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding, a sickness in the pit of her stomach, the sense that something was going wrong.

When she next saw him, he was no longer James, he was the Winter Soldier. A new bruise had blossomed on his face, the sign that at some point he had tried to resist, but his face was impassive, eyes cold. He had been triggered, was the Winter Soldier, no trace of recollection, of personality or individuality left. His eyes didn’t move as she was walked past him, her arms pulled too tight behind her back. He would know only that she was his partner, that they worked well together, that she wasn’t a target. He would trust her and they would work well together but until his personality began to re-emerge, to fight against the triggers, he wouldn’t care. Last time, it had taken a photo to overcome his triggers, sometimes it just took time, other times she would try and talk to him about the memories they had recovered, hoping that he could find his humanity before he was wiped again.

She stood, watching, as he was equipped, given knives, guns, grenades, a sniper rifle. She waited for her own weapons, wondering why she wasn’t being briefed but before she could speak, a door opened and the Soldier left. Alone. A wordless protest fell from her mouth before she could stop herself and the handler backhanded her without concern, her neck jerking sideways, blood dripping to the concrete floor. For so long, she had accompanied the Soldier on his missions. Soldier and his Shadow. And now, he had been sent alone.

The handler turned to her as she straightened, her cheek throbbing and her mouth filled with the warm taste of her own blood.

“Your mission,” he handed her a flash drive, gesturing to put it into her pocket. “Project INSIGHT is compromised. You will infiltrate the SHIELD headquarters tonight, upload these files, to protect INSIGHT.” She nodded, afraid to ask where the Soldier had gone. Her hands were clenched, knowing what was to come next. The handler had already dismissed her, picking up a folder as he started to leave, speaking to the technician standing nearby. “Trigger her.”

It never got easier, those seconds before the trigger words, the words that would erase the little she had of herself, replace her with Winter Shadow. The words trapped her behind a wall in her mind, from which she could only watch and scream silently as her body carried out orders, fought, maimed, killed. The technician approached and she watched as his mouth opened and he spoke.

“James Buchanan Barnes.”

Then she was gone.  
-

Mission parameters: wait for nightfall, infiltrate base, upload files. Minimal interaction, limit casualties. Withdraw unseen. Regroup at point alpha.

They waited until it was dark, when the HQ would be at its quietest. They stripped her down in the back of the truck, gave her a SHIELD uniform. Someone gave her a brush and she held it until they told her what to do with it, smoothing her hair down robotically. Glasses, with inbuilt camera. A pile of folders to hold, to hide the gun strapped to her front. A SHIELD ID pass, her face staring blankly back at her from the piece of plastic. She was shown schematics, memorised a route to the server room. Her eyes blinked occasionally. The soldiers in the truck ignored her, talking around her, knowing that she was incapable of responding unless addressed. They stopped a few blocks from the HQ and helped her out, and she started to walk. Her face settled into an expression of mild neutrality, and she avoided eye contact with the passers-by on the street.

At the HQ she walked the route memorised, walking fast enough to suggest an important job that shouldn’t be disturbed. She scanned herself through locked doors with her pass. A previous mission had gained them access to some of SHIELD’s security systems and although they were careful not to over-use their backdoor access, adding an occasional staff member was not going to be detected.

The job was almost too easy, requiring little skill. She found the right room, a server room that would be empty unless there was a problem, logged on to the computer, set files to upload, then sat back to wait. It had been many hours now since she had been triggered, and she was starting to experience flashes of recall. This was Hydra’s unknown weakness. Their wipes, their triggers, were all built around allowing memories of the Winter Soldier, to allow her to support him. But each memory that was retained, allowed to exist, was a breach in the wall that trapped her free will in her mind. The memories were migraine snapshots, bright lights and a sudden pain as neurones fired. The Soldier had gone without her. His name was James. He remembered…

The computer in front of her beeped, drawing her attention back to it and out of her own head. She stared at it blankly for a moment, then moved convulsively and started typing. ‘Steve Rogers’. She remembered that she had promised to look him up. She couldn’t remember why, or where the name had come from, but knew it was important. She had only minutes, her timescale having been carefully plotted – this long to walk to the room, this long to upload the files… Only one chance to read anything, she clicked on the first file she could.

‘Steven Grant Rogers. AKA Captain America...’ her eyes scanned down. ‘DOB 4th July 1918… Abraham Erskine… supersoldier… Howling Commandos… James Buchanan Barnes…’

Her eyes froze on the last words, her mind a whirl of confusion. The sound of her trigger words flashed in her head. Unheeding of the time, of the consequences of her lateness, she clicked on the name, and then watched, unblinking, as a picture appeared.


	4. Chapter 4

She was off-comms for this mission, her handlers not wanting to risk sending her in with any earpiece, anything detectable. There should have been no need, it was almost risk-free, straight in, straight out. No need to engage in combat. No one could have foreseen the possibility that she would search for a file on Steve Rogers, that his file would link her to James Barnes, that she would she a picture of the Soldier, ‘Missing in Action’ stamped across the photo.

Mission parameters forgotten, the danger of being seen ignored, she sat and read through the file, trying to make sense of what she saw. James Buchanan Barnes, born almost 100 years before, a soldier in the Second World War, a POW, freed by this Steve Rogers, then lost from a train, his body never found. How could this match up to the tortured assassin she knew, who caught on to fleeting scraps of memory to try and reconstruct himself. She read and re-read the file, desperate to store as much as possible, knowing that she couldn’t take any documents back to be found, and that most memories would be wiped as soon as she returned to Hydra.

Return to Hydra… she was suddenly recalled to herself, aware that she had long outstayed her allotted time and that there would be a price to be exacted for that. For a moment, she considered running, not returning to Hydra, but the pull of the Soldier was too strong. She had to be there for him. He was her trigger, her mission, no matter what. 

She carefully removed any trace of herself from the computer, shut it down, and made for the door, edging out into the corridor. It was the small hours of the morning now, she guessed, and she expected the building to be almost empty, a skeleton staff keeping things ticking over before the morning rota arrived. She walked along the corridor towards her exit and as she turned into the foyer, was startled to find a huge crowd milling around, the noise a cacophony of excitement and fear. She edged around the crowd, working her way towards the door when she was halted by the conversation behind her.

‘… heard it was the Winter Soldier… can’t believe Fury’s dead… in Rogers’ apartment?’ 

She came close to turning around, asking questions, desperate to know more. The Soldier had been to Steve Rogers’ apartment? Had it triggered new memories? The urge to get back to Hydra, to find out more, was too strong. She needed to see James, to share what she had found out. To be with him.

She hurried out of the building and headed back to the rendezvous point. As she got to the corner, the back doors of the van were flung open and she was hauled inside, leg tearing against the base of the van, and thrown into the back. The doors were slammed shut and almost instantly the van started to drive away.

“What the hell happened? Where’ve you been? You’re two hours late, you damn bitch.” Each word from the soldier in the van was accompanied by a kick to the ribs, but her mind was racing too fast to care, her only concern to see James. Eventually the swerving of the van was too much for the abusive soldier, who sat down rather than risk falling on her, but continued to berate her as she struggled to a sitting position, bruised ribs and bleeding leg now making their presence felt.

“SHIELD’s in an uproar now and you’re sitting in there for two hours, what the hell were you doing? Your friend did his job, he’s taken out Fury, we’ve got the whole of SHIELD out for vengeance and you left us sitting out in the open waiting for you to show? You’re gonna pay.” He mumbled himself into silence, her lack of response making his attack pointless. She sat still and silent, but her mind was in turmoil. She had no way to explain her behaviour, and was now in fear that they would suspect some element of their control was lost, and would mind-wipe her completely. All the information she had on James, would be gone. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart raced. Perhaps they would wipe everything. The memories of James themselves. They’d sent him out without her; if they considered their partnership unnecessary, it could all be gone.

A drive, a flight, another drive, and they were at last at the Hydra base. She was exhausted and in pain, but there was never any compassion in her treatment. The soldiers dragged her from the van and threw her into her cell. She sat tense, waiting for the debrief, but no one came.

As hours passed without anyone coming, she stopped worrying about the debrief, about being reprogrammed, and began to fear for James. She had whispered through to his cell with no response. He had left before her and even though she was late back, had still not arrived. No guards came to her cell and so she was left with nothing but her own thoughts and fears.

Much later, when the bruises on her ribs had knotted into tight balls of pain, and the blood from her leg had finally stopped flowing, she heard footsteps approaching. Not wanting to show her anticipation she stayed seated but her eyes were drawn to the sight. He was being brought down to the cells by the usual complement of armed guards. His eyes sought hers and at long last, made contact. He showed signs of a fight, blood and dirt covering his uniform, but his eyes looked more human, and more confused, than she had ever seen before.

“Pierce is on his way, no point hosing him down just to send him out again,” one of the guards said as the cell door was unlocked and James was pushed unceremoniously inside. “Whole thing’s been a screw-up, Pierce wants answers.” She heard the door at the end of the corridor slam, shutting off the guards’ voices, and instantly threw herself onto the bed and against the ventilation brick, injuries forgotten.

Peering through the small holes, she could see James sitting on his bed, head in hands. She called his name once, twice, before he finally turned and looked at her with haunted eyes.

“I saw him, the man in the photo. He was on the bridge. He called me Bucky. Who is he? Who am I?” His voice was strained with tension and confusion, both hands clenched into fists, one flesh and one metal.

“I know James. I know who you are, who he is. Please, listen,” she said, quiet and intense, desperate to share what she knew, hoping that one of them could retain it through whatever wipes were to come. Hastily, he rolled onto the bed, eyes fixed on hers through the ventilation holes, his breathing sounding fast and sharp as she spoke. She told him what she’s discovered, all that SHIELD knew, knowing that there was still more missing. From his birth to his capture to his supposed death, his friendship with Steve Rogers, she tried to cover it all, aware that the facts were jumbled and incomplete, but it seemed enough. The more she spoke, the more he seemed to remember, fact stirring memory. His eyes filled with pain as he started to recall all that he’d lost, but before he could speak, they heard the door open again and footsteps return. Instantly he rolled away from her and sat up, ready for whatever came next.

She sat up too but the soldiers marched past her cell to his, the bars grating open with a noise that set her teeth on edge. As he was walked past her cell, his eyes met hers and held her gaze until a soldier shoved him in the back, forcing him on. 

It was to be the last time she saw him for over a year.

\---

As always, the door to the chamber was left open, although she suspected that this time it was more habit than threat. The atmosphere in the building was tense, voices were sharp and unforgiving. Something was very wrong. Her jaw was clenched with tension, fear at what was to come. Pain, she could cope with, she was used to it, used to the way it spoke in her body, but the loss of herself, the loss of James, was a terror sharper than any knife they might use on her.

She heard a new voice speak in the chamber, it was deep and slow but she could feel the anger beneath the surface. She didn’t understand what they were talking about, what had happened in the many hours that James had been gone, after Fury had been taken out. She was afraid for James, for what he must be thinking with all the new information she had given him, how his brain must be racing to process and store and save and hide the information before he was wiped again. Her face was wet, and she wiped away tears.

“Mission report,” the voice said, then when no one else spoke, “mission report, NOW.” She heard the harsh crack of flesh striking flesh, felt her own body recoil as if it was the one that had been struck, then James’ voice echoed down the short corridor.

“The man on the bridge… who was he? I knew him.”

She heard Pierce begin to lie, telling James that the man was merely someone he’d seen on another mission, but she knew. Knew it was Steve Rogers, knew that James remembered, that his life was coming back to him, if he could just have a chance. But then…

“Wipe him and start over. Leave nothing.”

Without being aware of what she was doing, she had flung herself at the cell bars, gripping on tight as if she could force them apart, get to James. He’d given too much away, had shown that he was starting to recall. And so they were going to take it all away from him. Every memory he’d given her: Brooklyn, a funeral, a rollercoaster. Steve. And her. It would all be gone.

He had obviously resisted, fought what he knew they were going to do. It always hurt more if you resisted. Her screams of anguish joined his screams of pain.


	5. Chapter 5

They didn’t bring him back to the cell after that, but it wouldn’t have mattered. She knew that James didn’t exist anymore. He couldn’t. The length of the wipe, the ferocity of his screams, the quality of the silence that followed, they must have taken it all away. Decades of catching each fragment of his past, gone. She didn’t think it would be possible to bring it back.

When they came for her, she was sitting on the floor, slumped against the cell bars. They opened the door, grabbing her ungently, their own anger at the mission’s failures leading them to treat her even more harshly than normal. The cut on her leg began to bleed again, a trail of drips following her footsteps towards the chamber.

Pierce was gone, briefing the Winter Soldier on his next mission. The usual bored-looking team of handlers, soldiers, and technicians, filled the room, this brutal torture mundane to them now. She stood waiting, uncaring any more about what was going to happen. Until it began. Then the cries of pain were forced out of her, no matter how hard she tried.

She’d known she would be punished for not sticking to mission time. With the sudden return of James’ memories, they were all in fear that they were losing control of the Winter programme. If the Soldier could fall, the Shadow was surely also a threat. And she had no answer for their questions, refused to explain what she had been doing in the missing hours. She hid inside her mind while her body was tormented but eventually they gave up, realising that all they were doing was damaging an asset, and right now they needed every asset in play. And so at last she was pushed back into the chair, its padding an almost welcome comfort, despite what she knew was to come. They were less careful this time. No IV to help overcome the body’s reaction to the treatment. No mouthguard to stop her biting off her own tongue. Just the straps, the helmet, the light and the pain. The pain overtook her, became her whole world, until she couldn’t say where the pain ended and she began, until there was nothing but pain. Pain, and then blackness, blankness.

And then the cell. The fogged brain, the confusion, the loss of self. Staring blankly at bruises, at a bloody leg, utterly unaware of how it had been hurt, that this wasn’t the way skin should always be, dark with bruising and blood. Yet again, she stared around the cell, seeing everything for the first time, as she had done countless times before. She was tired now though, too tired to understand the tap in the corner, or figure out the tray of food on the floor. She let her body lie down on the bed, and slept.

She woke, a little clearer headed, many hours later. No windows down here to help determine night and day, just the same dim light that never varied. She rolled over and off the bed, realising her thirst now, drank, then ate, then automatically lay back down and turned towards the ventilation brick, ready to help James to recover. The cell was empty. Her bruised mind took a moment to catch up with reality. James was gone, on a mission, wiped, every trace eradicated. And yet she still knew him. She let her tired mind run through her thoughts. She still remembered him, remembered most of what she had read at SHIELD. Although they had wiped him completely, they had used the standard programme on her, scraping away at her memories of herself, of her life, of free will, but leaving that centre, leaving James. Somehow this was worse torture than if they had taken it all.

-

Days dragged by, slow, lonely tormented days. As an asset, she was rarely used, and so for days she would sit until dragged out to train, to fight. To be tortured, abused. She bore the brunt of the soldiers’ tensions, their anxiety as their world was shaken. A mission was almost a welcome relief, a chance to move, to act, to stop feeling any more. A moment of perfect sorrow as she heard the trigger words, his name, and then it was all gone, for the length of the mission.

Wounds healed, and new ones replaced them. Meals were eaten, on the occasions someone remembered to feed her. Time passed. She schooled her face to blankness, presenting the soldiers with an unblinking nothingness, whatever they did, until they gave up out of boredom at her lack of reaction. They stopped remembering that she had ever been human, that she had ever been partnered with the soldier. They stopped remembering that she could hear, and understand.

And so, she heard them talk. Soldiers, bored by guarding a non-responsive unmoving blank, would sigh and gossip, and she would listen in, piece together the outside world as she had once pieced together James’ memories. She heard of the fall of SHIELD, and tried to imagine the Steve Rogers that James had remembered, losing his command. A while later, she heard more, of the attempt to take on the Triskelion, on the mission’s failure. 

She heard that the Winter Soldier had, at the last, failed, had refused the kill, had dragged the Captain from the water. And had gone. The soldiers whispered in fear but her hearing was enhanced enough to catch their words. They justified their actions, the way they had treated him, ‘only following orders’, ‘we’re not the worst’, afraid that he would come for them.

She wasn’t afraid. She knew that James wouldn’t return. If he had found himself, he would not risk being recaptured. He would run, far, and fast, and hide, reborn into a world without pain. She pressed down the surge of hope she felt, afraid that the soldiers would see, hope that perhaps the memories she’d been able to give him, had been enough. That his past had been strong enough to survive the wipe, brought alive by the sight of his oldest friend.

But for her, there were only longer days, blurring together so she forgot if it had been today that she ate, or only yesterday. If it was this week that they had beaten her, or the one before. What is a shadow without its counterpart? What is an asset when not in use? As Hydra disintegrated, as soldiers whispered and fled, she shut down, withdrawing further into her thoughts.

As she sat, still and silent, her thoughts circled, following the same track, month after month. Him. Her trigger words. Him. She had never known the meaning of her triggers before. Three words, as meaningless as the sounds of a crying child. And yet now that she knew she was sickened. Her only friend, the only thing she had in her life, that was what they used to turn her into a killing machine. The man she was programmed to protect, used to turn her into a monster.

-  
 _  
It had been so long since he’d been alone. Decades with Hydra, time with the army. There was such a pure joy in being alone, in choosing his own clothes, his own food, when to sleep, when to wake. For the first month in Bucharest, he allowed himself to enjoy the simple pleasures of warmth, chocolate, rest. After so long, being allowed peace, and the freedom of choice, was enough._ __

_But gradually even joy can become routine. It wasn’t enough to simply enjoy the sensation of a shower, it became familiar, and as familiarity grew, there was space in his mind to think and to remember. And where memory grew, so did his fear and his loneliness._ __

_Money was tight, the odd jobs he could find giving him just enough to survive, so every purchase was carefully considered. But one cold morning, he went out early into the city, bought pens, notebook, newspaper. He read every word, looking for any trace of Steve Rogers, of Hydra, of her, but there was nothing. This became his routine each day, to scour the world’s news. When work dried up and money was too low to buy newspapers, he found the library, and took to spending each day there. He started to research and read, about the years he had missed. He found references to things he remembered he had done, and saw them written out as atrocities and acts of terror. He didn’t go back to the library for a week after that, sunk into depression and remorse._ __

_The librarians grew used to him, let him take home papers at the end of the day, and he started to build up a picture of who he was. He wrote down every memory, annotated every story. He found an article on Steve Rogers, cut it out carefully, and spent long hours staring at the picture, knowing there was something wrong with the image, how it didn’t match the one in his head. When he read about the serum, he remembered more, how unwell Steve had been, how they had met. Each memory seemed to spark another.  
_ _  
There was more to his book though, than his early life or his missions. There were memories of a shadow. His shadow. His Shadow. She was always there, in his memories, trailing him in his dreams. Each memory of his time with Hydra, every mission, every wipe, every torture, was matched with a memory of her beside him. Rumours of her were even harder to trace than of him, but he could see her in the space between the words. His memory book grew full of descriptions as he tried to piece her together in his mind. The feel of her skin, the strength of her muscles, the colour of her eyes, the sound of her voice as she screamed.  
_ _  
The pleasure in solitude started to fade, and decades of loneliness caught up with him. He remembered how close he had been to Steve, what it was like to have a best friend, someone who cared. He missed that, found it harder to see pictures, to read about Steve, whose life had taken such a different turn to his. And he remembered how she had stitched him together when the wipes tore him apart, how she had fought beside him, how she had held him whenever they could be alone. He missed her, and now that he remembered, he wept with guilt that he had left her behind.  
_ _  
The more he read, the more he remembered, the more he knew they would be coming for him. He deserved it. He wanted to atone for his actions, never at peace in his own mind any more. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to live free forever. Each day was a pleasure but the tension grew with every moment of freedom. Waiting to be found, waiting to be captured, waiting to be hurt again.  
_ _  
-_

_She stopped feeling. It was easier that way. Her heart broke every time she was reminded of him, so she stopped thinking. She grew grateful for each wipe, hoping that one day she would be fully wiped, that every trace of humanity would be erased. But Hydra had grown sloppy as they fell apart, had never reprogrammed the machine, so she was still wiped and triggered the same way. To remember him, to protect him. It was a painful irony that left her heart raw each time that she came to and her brain rebuilt itself around him, when he wasn’t there._

_There was still gossip from the guards, although she was now so far distant that she didn’t understand what he heard. Zemo. Sokovia. Vienna. Wakanda. It was all meaningless to her, and she was glad. She shut herself off from information and from hope. Easier that way._

_There was a day when the atmosphere in the base was different, and even as she tried not to care, she couldn’t help but pick up on the adrenaline that was flowing in the guards. Their movements were tense, muscles clenched, weapons held firmly. She knew it was only a matter of time, a mission was coming._

_As expected, a little while later, she was taken out of her cell, taken to the briefing room. She stood silent, waiting, while they gave her the mission, and then she tensed, knowing what was coming. The trigger words. The words that would create the Shadow, the shadow to a man who had gone. The words that would make her lose herself. ‘James. Buchanan. Barnes’._

_-_

_The mission should have been simple. She had carried out these missions a hundred times before. The killing was routine and simple. But the world was on higher alert now. The world, and the Avengers. They were just a story she had heard about from the guards, the kind of story she’d barely believed. Supersoldiers and spies, working for the good of the world. In her experience, there was no good allowed. If you had powers, they were taken and abused._

_But then she was facing someone new. It was almost liking fighting with the Soldier again, but instead of fighting alongside someone who matched her power and her abilities, she was opposing them. The woman was agile, fast, strong. She had once been that strong, but recently there had been too much abuse, too little care, and her body was slower and weaker now. When the woman hit her, she felt the electric shock race through her like the start of a mind wipe. She screamed, falling to the floor, as the electricity undid her trigger words, leaving her awake and aware in the world. Awake, aware, and now in handcuffs, being pulled away by the woman. The Black Widow._


	6. Chapter 6

She was taken in. Not too roughly, but not too gently either. Handcuffed, thrust into the back of a windowless van, the Widow climbing in after her, and banging on the driver’s partition. The van started, and she felt it moving off into traffic, not too fast, trying not to attract attention. She shifted slightly, trying to ease her shoulders and get more comfortable. Time to assess first, before acting, before trying to escape.

And then it hit her. Why escape? Why leave one captivity, to return to another? For years, she had returned to Hydra because of James, drawn to him, programmed, compelled, to be there with him. Then he left, and she reverted to acting solely on command. Go out, complete mission, return. But now, the electroshocks had agitated her brain, resetting her neuronal connections, shaken loose the commands. Perhaps not all of them, she still felt the urge to fight, to run, but now she felt that she could choose whether to act on those orders. Now she could think about who and why she might fight, where she might run. The choice was too great, after decades under control, the idea of free will was tantalising and terrifying. For now though, she would choose to wait.

She shifted again, arms uncomfortably pressed against the van walls as they drove, and her movement drew the attention of the Widow, sitting on the bench across from her.

“I’m not uncuffing you, if that’s what you’re hoping for,” she said, sardonic smile on her face. “You’ll wait until we’re back at base and there’ll be a whole host of people ready to take you down if you try anything.”

“Which base? Who do you work for?” She hadn’t meant to ask, but she’d missed too much of the last year to understand the constantly shifting allegiances. Her voice, rarely used, was dry and rasping in her throat. There was a pause and she could see the Widow considering whether to reply.

“You don’t need to know where we’re going – and in case you’ve got some tracker or comms I haven’t spotted, this van is shielded, so don’t expect a rescue any time soon.”

She shook her head, almost smiling. “They won’t be rescuing me.” It was true, she realised. The other Soldiers were more capable, she was an asset only when it wasn’t too much trouble. She had certain skills, but they wouldn’t be missed. Her primary purpose had been to support the Winter Soldier, and he was gone. She rested her head back against the van wall and shut her eyes, her body swaying with its movement.

-  
 _  
It had been a long year and there had been too much fighting. He just wanted peace, but he didn’t think it was possible for people like him. He’d tried so hard to make a new life in Bucharest, but he knew they would come for him, and they did. He’d had no inkling that morning that today would be the day, but he’d lived long enough always looking over his shoulder, that it didn’t take much for him to realise something was wrong._ __

_He’d stopped by the fruit stall, the market being the cheapest place to buy food on the little money he had. He enjoyed those few moments of conversation, just enough to keep him going, that little human contact, but he’d felt the eyes on his back, had turned to see the man watching him. And then the newspaper. He knew he hadn’t been in Vienna but somehow he even doubted himself. With so much of his life still lost behind a Hydra-induced fog, perhaps he had been there, perhaps it was another list of deaths in his name. But no, not this time._ __

_And so it was time to run. Home, to the only place he’d been able to call his own for so long now, somewhere that was his, private. Or was until he was there. The man from the bridge. Captain America. Steve. His oldest, and best friend. It was too much, there was too little time to find all the words he needed to say. He wanted this moment to pause, to allow him time to explain, about the lost decades, about the reconstructed memories, about her helping save him for himself, how the things she’d found out, about Steve, were what had finally set him free. But not now. Now, again, inevitably it seemed, a fight. It almost broke him. No peace, not for men like him._ __

_Then it seemed he was on a path with no turning back, the world running away with him. Fighting, and chases, and capture and no chance to talk to Steve, to say ‘I remember you’. To make a human connection to anyone other than his Shadow for so painfully long. And then, those words. He wanted to scream himself hoarse to stop his ears from hearing them, but it was too late._ __

_Triggered._ __

_Now, comply. Fight. Don’t hold back. You do not know these people. They are targets. You are the asset. You will comply. You will attack. You will kill. Then flee. Admit your guilt by running. The helicopter. The man, trying to prevent you from leaving. He is nothing. Destroy him too._ __

_And in his head, trapped, the real him, screaming. Watching, unable to act, as he fought these people, when all he wanted was not to fight any more, not to kill any more. He wanted to huddle down, hide from all this pain. The tiny part of him that was left roared inside his head, that was Steve, Steve was trying to stop him, but the compulsion overrode everything._ __

_Then the crash, the helicopter tumbling over and over, his body flung side to side, bloodied and bruised, no longer able to comply, only to survive, and then a blow to his head, and blackness and silence. And then. He woke to himself again. Trapped in a vice, but himself. James. No, Bucky. Free again, but aware now that there was no true freedom with these words in his head._ __

_Still no chance to talk to Steve. He wanted to find peace, to sit and remember with Steve, to be allowed to put himself back together. He was so tired, tired of fighting, of forgetting, of hurting, but there was no end. It always ended in a fight._ __

_Steve wanted to know, about Siberia, about the Winter Soldier programme. So he told them: “The most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in the HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.” He knew. He’d helped make them, trained them, fought them, killed those who weren’t fit. He shut his eyes for a moment, thinking about all the pain he’d caused in the world. He just wanted it all to stop. He drew in a breath, slowly, knowing he’d never be allowed to stop or rest, or give up._ __

_“And there’s another. The Shadow. Winter Shadow.” He saw them watching. She was another rumour, a whisper in the wind they’d barely heard of. “Like the Soldiers. She can hide in plain sight. Infiltrate, assassinate. You’d never see her coming.”_ __

_“Another one for the take-down list, great. Any other surprises?” That was Wilson, he could feel the animosity pouring off him. Didn’t blame him._ __

_“She’s not like the others. She’s like me. She…” How to explain how important she was? How to explain that they needed to help her, to save her? God, please let them save her, better her than him. “She’s my friend.” His head dropped. It wouldn’t be enough, but right now it was all he had._ __

_-  
Being with Steve was almost enough. There was almost time to talk, crammed in the back of a too-small car, trying to explain seventy missing years, hungry to hear Steve’s voice, just to be there with him, every word stirring up his humanity again. Almost enough, but never enough time. Too many fights, too much pain. Watching Stark – Howard’s son, already middle aged – watching him kill Howard. It was too much now. Too much pain, and he needed it to stop now. He almost gave in to the raw need on Steve’s face, not to lose him again, but he couldn’t not now. He needed peace, and perhaps the only way to find it was to shut down, to succumb to the ice-cold of cryo, and to forget again. Forget he’d ever been a man, forget he’d ever had friends, forget he’d ever lived. _ __

_But one last thing he couldn’t’ forget, one last thing to say before he went under, perhaps never to wake._ __

_“Steve. If you find her, the Shadow, she’s like me. She’s been trapped, compelled. She was created to work alongside me, and she’s the only one who’s ever seen me for more than death. Please, save her. Even if you can’t’ save me.” He’d hugged Steve then, a tight grip that tried to make up for all the lost years and the heartache, that needed to say all the things that words couldn’t._ __

_He smiled, a brave face for his best friend. Then the cold and the silence and the nothingness, tears frozen on his face._ __


	7. Chapter 7

They took her to a military base, she wasn’t sure there. She’d allowed herself to give up utterly in the van, had surprised herself by falling asleep. She’d slept deeply, better than she had for many years, because she’d finally given in. There was no more James, or Winter Soldier, or Bucky, whoever he turned out to be. No mission, no commands. Pain, she could deal with, if that’s what they gave her, it wouldn’t matter. She dreamt of a quiet cell, of solitude, of being ignored and unwanted, unnecessary, and it felt beautiful. With James gone, she’d finally given up hope, and found peace in the thought.

When the van pulled up, she woke, trying to ease stiff shoulders. The Widow was still sitting opposite her, a slight look of bemusement on her face. 

“Never had a prisoner fall asleep on me before, I have to admit,” she said, as she opened up the back of the van, both women blinking in the light. “You’re a cool character, that’s for sure.”

She didn’t speak as she climbed out, feeling almost euphoric at how little anything mattered. She wasn’t with Hydra now, and it seemed unlikely anyone would ever want to send her on a mission again. She had no purpose, no fight left. No James. It was an odd feeling to feel so free.

They led her inside, surrounded by armed guards, and took her to a plain but clean cell. The cuffs were removed and she stretched out her arms, rubbing the chafing on her wrists. Clean clothes were brought, and food. She lay on her bed, and allowed herself to feel nothing.

The interrogation started the next day. They weren’t cruel, but she could tell they found her words disturbing. She could see the signs of anger being quashed as she talked through missions she had run, intel she had stolen. She let it all spill out to the woman sitting opposite her, and to the people she suspected were behind the glass wall. None of it mattered. James was gone now. She didn’t speak of him, was full of hope that he had run and was free, so she spoke only of what she had done, and never of anyone else being involved.

After days and days of interrogation, stretched across weeks and months, they had taken everything they could from her. She didn’t know – didn’t ask – what they did with the information she gave, the details of bases, security, personnel. She could guess, but she didn’t care. She’d kept James safe. That was her prime motivation, whether she’d been triggered or not.

When they had taken what they could, they moved her. Solitary confinement, but she didn’t mind. The prison was clean, the guards not unpleasant. She was fed, and clean, was given time outside where she could see the sun and hear the birds. She lived inside her head. When she ate, she imagined what James must be eating, wondering if he had found a favourite food in his life of freedom. When she showered, feeling the soapy water slide down her skin, she remembered the way his hands had felt on her skin, in those hurried snatched moments they had tried to find together. When she stood outside and stared up at the sky until the sun made dark spots on her vision, she was imagining that he was staring up at the sky too. She barely spoke, and the guards began to suspect she wasn’t sane.

As time passed, unnoticed for her, so it also passed for everyone else. For Steve, in Wakanda, the sharp pain of seeing Bucky in cryo that had hit him so hard in the early days, had subsided to a dull ache. Losing his friend, again and again, hurt more than he could bear. As the grief made life grey, he realised that he needed to find comfort, that friendship was important. And so he reached out, afraid of rejection, to Stark.

Stark too, in the long months since the civil war, had changed. The horror, the kneejerk rage, at seeing his own parents’ murder, had receded, and reason had begun to prevail. Perhaps he could never forget, what he had seen, the way his friend had walked away, but perhaps he could forgive. Or perhaps there was nothing to forgive. Words said in anger and pain should not count. He had lashed out, and so had Steve, and Bucky had been a pawn, forced to act in Hydra’s horrific game.

And so when Steve contacted him, he responded well. Their first conversations were tentative, but across time they found a way to circle the topic of their fight, to apologise without saying the words, to forgive without speaking. Until the day came when Steve and his team, were to arrive at Stark Tower, to see old friends again after so long.

The first meeting was one of joy, genuine release at trust rebuilt, and they talked long into the night, all of them. People shifted around the room as conversation ebbed and flowed, Stark and Steve, Natasha and Clint, Wanda and Scott. It was early in the morning when Steve sat down next to Natasha, the earlier tension in his body now gone, a genuine smile on his face. One of his oldest and wisest friends, he had saved this conversation until last. They talked over the months apart, and then she asked the question that no one had dared, about Bucky, where he was, how he was. Who he was, now.

“He’s not Bucky, but he’s not the Winter Soldier. He’s somewhere in between,” he said, the smile fading. “He chose cryo, he’s so afraid of what’s inside him.” 

Natasha put her hand on his knee and he looked up at her, a half smile returning. “That must have been hard, I know you want to save him Steve. You’ll find a way to get him free, especially now we’re all back together.”

“Yeah. I hope so. I promised myself I’d find a way, but I’ve been so caught up in grieving… I need to get on.”

“If you promised him, you’ll do it Steve. America’s Boy Scout can’t break a promise,” she teased him, hoping to lift his mood again and his smile broadened.

“Actually, I didn’t promise _him_. He wouldn’t let me. Kept saying he was at peace with his choice to go under. He did make me promise about his partner though.” He sighed. “I need to look for her too, I did promise I’d try and get her out from Hydra, but honestly, I don’t know where to start.” 

“Partner? He wasn’t working alone?”

“Nope. Remember that rumour, about the ‘Winter Shadow’, that dogged the footsteps of the deadliest assassin?” Natasha nodded slowly. “Turns out it’s true. She’s another captive, brainwashed, tortured. Like Buck. Only she hasn’t got away. He begged me Nat, he didn’t care about himself, but he begged me to find her. And I have no clue how you find a shadow.”

There was silence for a moment. Steve was staring into space, turning his beer bottle through his hands while his mind travelled back to Wakanda. Natasha was frowning, a deep furrow between her brows as she thought.

“I have someone who might be able to help. Someone we got out from Hydra. We’ve grilled her on everything and she’s spilt without question, but we never asked about Barnes, or this Shadow, because we didn’t know. I’ll take you there, tomorrow.”

-

The next morning was bright and clear as the car sped out of the garage of Stark Tower, heading off into the countryside to a prison that few people knew of. The prison existed far outside the US legal system, and yet was bound by a stricter set of rules, guarded by a tighter staff, and contained only those prisoners it was better for the world to never know about. Natasha parked the car and she and Steve walked through the scanners to be met by the Prison Warden.

“Agent Romanov, it’s good to see you again. And Captain, a pleasure.” The man shook their hands, leading them through the quiet corridors to a door. “She’s in here, as requested. I should tell you… you might not get much. I don’t know, maybe it’s the effect of Hydra, maybe she’s just broken, but she barely speaks now, just sits and daydreams. She’s no trouble, but she might not be any use either.”

Natasha and Steve looked at one another, both trying to hide their disappointment. They’d discussed her case long into the early hours of the morning and gain in the car, and had hoped she might give intel on the Shadow. But if she’d lost her mind, the best they could expect was perhaps a vacant smile. 

The Warden unlocked the door and they stepped inside, ready to try what they could.

“Ma’am, my name is Captain St…”

“Steve Rogers. You’re Steve. Captain America.” None of them had anticipated the sudden rapt look on her face, the way she’d stood, chair clattering behind her, as he’d walked in. “I know who you are. James told me about you.”


	8. Chapter 8

Steve and Natasha stared at each other, startled, then Steve quickly turned to the Warden, who was poised to intervene.

“It’s OK, we’re good here. Thank you for your help Sir,” he said, gently backing the man out of the room and shutting the door.

She was still standing, gripping the edge of the table tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Steve turned back towards her.

“OK, let’s sit down, sounds like we need to talk.”

She righted her chair and they all sat at the table, but there was no talk for a moment. Nobody quite knew where to start. Then Steve drew in a breath and took control.

“So. You knew James. Just to be clear, that is James Bucha…”

She jerked, as if shocked, and shouted before she could stop herself.

“Yes, please, don’t… say his name. James, that James. Your friend. From before the war. Bucky. Yes, I know him. I knew him.”

Natasha leant forward in her chair, eyeing her. “I have a lot of questions. First off, why can’t we say his name. Second, where did you know him, and third, why is this the first I’ve heard of it?”

She didn’t speak, wishing she hadn’t reacted to quickly to the sight of the Captain, or to the sound of James’ name. She wanted to trust these people but her instinct to protect James was stronger than any other.

Steve spoke next, as the pause grew too long. “I need to know what you know about the Winter Shadow. Have you heard of them?”  
She looked up at that, eyes wide, and stared from one face to the other.

“I.. That’s…” She drew in a shaky breath. “Where did you hear that name, why do you want to know?”

Steve was beginning to suspect her identity, but didn’t want to reveal too much, to play his hand too soon. “You tell me what I want to know, I’ll give you some information. But you first.”

“I’m the Winter Shadow. I worked with James, lived with him, for as long as I can remember.” She smiled sadly, looking down at her hands on the table. “Longer than I can remember. I can’t remember much. I can’t remember before James.”

Over the next hour or so, they drew out more information, questioning her to ensure she was telling the truth. And for every word she spoke, telling them about their missions, about her role, all the things she had hidden from interrogation before, there was much more unspoken that they picked up. 

She sat still, hands in her lap now, and eyes mostly cast down as if she was reliving her memories. She talked about their partnership, their support of each other, and they watched her smile. She talked about the chair, the torture, the wipes, and they saw tears splash down onto her lap. Unashamedly, she talked about the solace they had sought in each other, in snatched moments on missions, each the other’s only gentle touch, the only care they ever felt or showed. She told them about how he began to remember things, fragments and echoes of his past, and how they would remember them together, whispered through the wall through wipe after wipe. Then she looked up.

“Then he saw your picture, and then he saw you on a mission, and it brought back so much. I found your file, at SHIELD, and he remembered it all. But then he left. I don’t know where he is now, but it doesn’t matter. He’s free.”

“And you, you were with Hydra without him, for what, a year?”

She nodded, and he saw her swallow convulsively, knew that there was a story of violence and pain behind her eyes, Hydra agents taking out their fears on their prisoners as the organisation fell apart was a familiar story from other debriefings. He knew also that she was telling the truth. Her story matched Bucky’s, this was the Shadow he’d talked of.

“He’s free,” she repeated, almost to herself, but as Natasha and Steve caught each other’s eyes, she froze. “What is it? What do you know? Where is he? Is he…?”

She’d stood again, in her agitation and fear of what they were going to say. Steve and Natasha stood as well, hands held out placatingly. “It’s OK. He’s… he’s OK. He’s alive. He’s with me.”

At that, she did give in and cry, although her face was lit with a smile of relief. “He found you. You found each other. All those memories, and now you have each other again.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve as she spoke and so missed the glance that Steve and Natasha gave each other as she continued. “Is he here? Can I see him? Please?”

The sorrow and pain that she’d shown as she’d talked about the Winter Soldier had been replaced with a giddy relief, knowing that James was alive and with his oldest friend was everything she needed. 

“He’s… not here. He’s in another country. I can take you to him, but…” He stopped himself. “I’ll take you to him.” Time enough to tackle that bridge when they came to it.

-

No matter if you’re a Captain or an Agent, it takes time and paperwork to free someone from a secret prison, and to transport them to another country. The two weeks while Steve argued her case and wrote reports, and swore he would be responsible for her actions, the guards saw a very different side to her. She seemed to come alive. Now that she didn’t have to imagine James’ life as a free man, now that she knew it was true, she smiled more, she talked more, she no longer drifted through life. She fidgeted with impatience at how long it was all taking, desperate to get to see James again. Nothing else mattered at the moment, just seeing James again after so many months apart.

Neither Steve nor Natasha had told her yet that he was in cryo. They’d had long conversations with her, starting her debrief again from scratch now that she was no longer hiding the Soldier from them. The story she told, of the years of Hydra torture, was hard to hear, and when she spoke about James as the only thing that kept her going, they couldn’t bring themselves to tell her.

And so when the day came that she was released into Steve’s custody, and she still didn’t know. She was quieter now, wary, as she stepped out of the safe familiarity of the prison. She was used to cells, to barred doors, locks and keys. For so many years she’d only been out in the world while triggered, that freedom seemed frightening. She walked quickly to Steve’s car, on alert for threat. Steve watched her as her she hunched into the seat, shoulders tense, expecting danger or violence.

He’d made a decision that day, as they drove towards the airport, that he had to tell her, couldn’t leave it any longer. It would be a cruel blow, but it was equally as cruel to keep her imagining James, waiting for her at the other end of the flight. As the car moved smoothly along the road, he took in a breath to steel himself, glad that he could keep his eyes on the traffic and not have to see her reaction to what he said.

“There’s something I have to tell you. Something you’re not going to want to hear,” he said, and saw her head turn in his peripheral vision. She didn’t speak, so he continued. “James is fine, he’s healthy and alive and well, but… he was triggered again, a few months ago. By someone who wanted to use him for all the wrong reasons. I can give you all the details later, but the most important thing you need to know. Bucky… James… he didn’t want to risk hurting anyone again. So he chose to go back into cryo.”

He left a pause for her to speak, but there was only silence. He turned his head quickly towards her, and as his head moved, so did hers, whipping around to look out of the side window.

“Before he went under, he asked me to find you, to help you. I… honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing right now. Where we’re going, it’s where he is. It was his choice. He can’t trust his own mind, and until we can figure out how to get that stuff out of his head, it’s where he wants to be.” His voice wavered, the grief caused by the absence of his oldest friend still a raw wound. He blinked a few times as the road swam in front of his eyes, and felt her eyes on him, but refused to look now. She had her grief, but he had his too.

“You can see him, but we can’t wake him.”

-  
She didn’t speak throughout the journey. Steve couldn’t find any words to say, was torn between wishing he’d told her long before, and wishing he’d never said anything. She stared blankly out of the window. As they parked at the airport, and made for the Quinjet, she still didn’t speak, keeping her eyes low. Natasha was already on board, prepping for flight, as they boarded. The Captain pointed out where she could sit, before heading to the cockpit. Natasha looked up.

“You tell her? How did it go?”

“Yeah. She’s not spoken since.” He ran his fingers through his hair with frustration. “I don’t even know why we’re going to Wakanda. What are we doing Nat? He’s in cryo, what’s the point. We might as well have left her in prison, this is all just… shit.”

He slumped in a chair, rubbed his hands over his face and looked over at Natasha. She knew that he was too close to all of this, he wanted to find a way to fix Bucky, to bring him back. Adding in this woman only added another layer of pain to his, another layer of complexity to the situation.

“You’re doing the right thing Steve. You spend all your time in Wakanda because you want to be near him, even if there’s nothing you can do. I’d say it’s the same for her. Let her see him, be near him, for a bit. She’s gone through enough crap, let her at least see he’s alive, we’ll take it from there.”

He looked up at her, glad as always that she was the voice of reason for him. Her face was screwed up in thought, but he waited, knowing that she would continue when she’d got her thoughts in order.

“I was thinking. She’s said she was treated the same as him, right? She has some trigger words, she had her mind wiped… nobody knows about her, there’s no risk to her being awake, so maybe – and it’s a big maybe – but maybe we can use her mind to find out more about his. The chances of us guessing her triggers are pretty slim, so she’s safe. It’s worth a shot.”

She smiled as the Captain’s face relaxed for the first time that day. This could be it, their chance to find out how to free Bucky. He leant back in his seat, and tried to imagine a world where he had his best friend again, as Natasha eased the jet into the air and they set off for Wakanda.


	9. Chapter 9

Even by Quinjet, the flight time between North America and Wakanda was long. The jet was equipped with excellent AI and autopilots, but Natasha and Steve liked to stay at the controls, at least while they were flying over occupied lands. Once the jet was clear of the continent and there was nothing but Atlantic as far as the eye could see, they finally switched to the autopilot and both sat back. Steve continued their earlier conversation, as if there’d barely been a pause; it had been playing in his mind throughout the flight.

“So, you think we can find a way to remove the triggers, really?” They’d had this conversation so many times before, but he needed constant reassurance, that there was hope. Natasha didn’t mind, she could sense how close he was at times to losing faith, was always happy to try and talk him around, help him remain optimistic.

“Someone put those triggers in there. So, there’s got to be a way to get them out. And now we have another tool…” her eyes flicked to the back of the jet, where the Shadow sat, still, lost in a world of her own. “… it could be the thing that helps.”

“She’s been through enough, you know we can’t just use her. Bucky wouldn’t want it. And it’s not right.”

Steve rubbed his face with his hands, frustrated and lost. His momentary excitement at the knowledge they could gain from studying the Shadow had faded, now he’d realised that they couldn’t just pick her apart like a machine. She’d been through as much as Bucky, and however much he wanted to save his friend, however much he missed him, it wouldn’t be right to use someone else just for that.

She had been listening all this time, her hearing developed far beyond a normal range. She’d boarded the jet with her mind in a jumble of emotions. On her way to see _him_. The Soldier, James. At last, after more than a year. Knowing that he was well and cared for and had seen his friend, was almost more than she could have dreamt of. But than trying to deal with the fact he was in cryo, and out of his own choice this time. To be so close and yet so far, unable to follow him into the cold sleep he’d entered alone. It was too much to bear.

It had taken her a while to become attuned to their voices, but eventually their words had drifted through the fog in her mind and she’d caught what they were saying. As they discussed his triggers, and hers, she started to understand what they were suggesting. Perhaps the patterns in her head could show the way to remove James’s triggers, and he could be free. Finally, truly free, not living in fear of becoming the Soldier again. But even as one part of her mind raced at the thought of his freedom, another part remembered the process that they’d both gone through, to implant the triggers. She felt the cold sweat of fear trickling down her back, fists clenching unconsciously at remembered pain. The terror at the thought of someone else inside her head was overwhelming, and she had to swallow sharply to keep down the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. And yet…

She heard the Captain say it wouldn’t be right, to use her in that way, and found herself standing, on legs that trembled as if she were walking to her death. Stepping through the open cockpit door, both heads swivelled towards her, surprised. She held on to the wall, took a moment to take in the view, the wide sea surrounding them, then she met the Captain’s eyes.

“I’ll do it. Whatever it takes.”

-

She slept for a lot of the flight to Wakanda, finding it easier to shut down than deal with their questions and concerns. Time enough for that once she’d seen for herself that James was still alive. The others slept too, taking turns while they flew over the ocean. Eventually land appeared in the window and they both woke, readied themselves to fly across the continent. Despite her attempts to avoid conversation, she found herself drawn to the cockpit, watching as the land flew by below, bright green in the sun. 

Despite its beauty, the sight below palled after a few hours, and they were still hours from their destination. They were all stiff and restless from being cooped up for so many hours, and she was uncomfortable in company. For so many years, she had been alone, or with people who only saw her for her utility, that she was unused to being around people. She withdrew to the rear of the plane, and to sleep, once again.

-

When she next woke, it was to a change in the engine sound. She sat up, and saw Natasha was coming close.

“I was just coming to wake you. We’re on our way to land. We’ll be down in ten minutes.”

She nodded at the younger woman, rubbed sleep from her eyes with hands that she realised were trembling. No threat here, but anticipation. _He_ was close now. 

The jet touched down smoothly and within minutes, the rear doors were opening. A wave of humid air swept the jet, her skin prickling in instant response. The air brought with it the smell of lush vegetation, so different from the dry city smells she had been used to for so long. She stood and walked out of the plane doors, her head spinning to take in the sights despite her desperation to get to the Soldier.

The airport was surrounded by forest, no doubt giving cover from satellites that allowed the country its famed privacy. Above the treeline in the distance she could see skyscrapers towering - what little she knew of the country had always suggested it was far in advance of the rest of the world. Seeing the setting sun glinting off windows ahead, she could believe it.

She drew her attention back to the airport where a woman was waiting patiently near a car. Rogers and Romanov had stepped forward to speak to her, their familiarity suggesting they made this trip often. She walked towards them as they turned to call her, and they all climbed into the car.

The journey to the capital city from the airport was short and easy but she was on edge, frustrated and impatient to arrive. Twenty-four hours ago, she had been in the prison in America, and now she was half a world away, but her mind was focussed on the man she’d come to see. The man who wouldn’t even know she was there. 

Eventually the car drew to a halt, and the driver opened the doors for them to climb out. They entered a building, to be met by a man. He stood in the lobby as if he had been waiting there for hours and could continue to do so for as long as was needed. No impatience showed on his face as they walked towards him, but as they approached, his face broke into a smile, and he pulled the Captain into an embrace, before shaking Natasha’s hand firmly.

“Ms Romanov, it is good to see you again, and in better circumstances than when we last met.” Romanov nodded, shaking his hand, a smile in her face now too.

She stayed back, unsure of her position here. Prisoner or guest; scientific tool or friend? She didn’t know who the man was, who seemed to be a friend to Rogers and Romanov. Steve turned to her, gesturing her forward as he spoke. “Allow me to introduce His Royal Highness T’Challa, King of Wakanda,” he said, smiling as she faltered, eyes widening. The man smiled at her welcomingly, his hand held out as if in friendship, and she took it while Steve introduced her. She was being treated as a visitor, T’Challa making small talk with all three of them about their flight, as she tried to understand how she had ended up here, a royal guest, when she was a brainwashed assassin.

Tiredness and confusion were overwhelming her, and it was perhaps showing on her face. T’Challa turned, and offered to have them shown to their rooms – a gesture of politeness as it seemed that Steve at least was familiar enough with this country to have his own suite. Her eyes snapped to Steve’s in a silent plea and he nodded.

“I think, if you don’t mind, we need to just go and see Bucky. We’ve travelled a long way and we all need a rest, but just a moment first?” 

T’Challa nodded, gesturing for them to carry on. “We will speak further in the morning Captain,” he said, as he left them to continue.

Steve knew the way well through the building, leading the two women up elevators and through corridors until at last they stepped into a large room, dominated by a window that showed how high they were now, the view taking in vast tracts of forest. She had no eyes for the view though. In the centre of the room, was a large white tube. The back, facing her, was solid, and she could just see where a glass front began, the glass facing the view as if the man inside might wake at any moment and open his eyes to take in the vista. He wouldn’t though. She knew who the tube must contain, the man she had travelled over 7000 miles to see.

And now that she was here, she found herself frozen, unable to take another step forward. She knew that if she walked further into the room, she would see him, see him still and silent, unresponsive, kept alive only by the machines that hummed quietly around the edges of the room. Once she’d seen him like that, it would be real. If she just stayed back here out of sight, she could still pretend that he was alive and awake, out in the world somewhere, she could avoid the reality of the choice he had made.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, flinched in fear and surprise that she had been so caught up in her thoughts she had been unaware of movement behind her. Her head snapped around to see Steve standing behind her, a look of understanding on his face.

“I didn’t want to see him go in. I understood why, and I respected his choice, but I didn’t want to have to see it. It’s OK though. He’s alive, and there’s hope. We’ll find a way to get him out. With your help.”

His words gave her the strength to step forward, although she kept her eyes on the ground until she was standing directly in front of the cryo-tube. Only then did she lift her head, slowly taking in the frosted glass and then, there, his face. The Soldier, James, looking more peaceful than she had ever seen him. Her hand touched the glass as if his might move to match it, and she was reminded of the countless years they had spent separated by a brick wall. Still, they couldn’t touch, kept apart by one layer of glass, and by the chemicals and freezing temperature that he had chosen over his existence. Her mind asked if he would have chosen cryo, if she had been there with him, and she was afraid of the answer.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, before a hand on her elbow drew her awareness back into herself and away from him.

“Ma’am, you should rest. We’ll talk about what happens next tomorrow.” She was gently guided out of the cryo room, and through the maze like building to a suite of rooms. There were clothes, suited to the tropical climate, food and drink. She was left alone with her thoughts and was grateful for the trust she was being given, despite all she’d done. Absent-mindedly, she ate and drank, showered, and climbed into bed, leaving the windows wide up to the sounds of unfamiliar birds and traffic far below. She slept, overcome with jet lag and confusion, and her dreams were filled with him, as they always had been.

-

She woke early, startled; the bright morning light shining on her face causing a sudden flashback to the beam of a guard’s torch on her eyes. Sitting up fast, she waited for her heart to calm, before climbing out of bed and walking to the window. After many years in underground cells and on dark missions, the scale of the view before her was breath-taking and heart-warming. She stood, drinking it in, this unexpected freedom before pulling herself back to her responsibilities. She showered and dressed, eating some fruit, her nerves growing the longer she had to wait. She didn’t know what would happen next, and her mind circled back to thoughts of her triggers, and the pain in her mind. 

When a knock on the door finally came, she leapt out of her seat as if burnt. She opened the door to find Steve and Natasha, both smiling but with a wary look which she was sure matched hers. There was a long road ahead and this was the first step. As they walked away, they made small talk, about food and sleep and temperature, but it was all to keep themselves from talking about the real topic. That was presented to them when they arrived at the cryo lab again. In the daytime, there were more people around, ostensibly tending to the machinery that kept James alive, but from their covert glances, she knew they were also here to watch her. Perhaps out of interest – a rumour come to life – perhaps as guards. She neither knew nor cared, her eyes were only for the cryotube.

Standing in front of it again as she had done a few hours earlier, she allowed herself to take in the sight properly. His left arm was missing, and there was a cut on his face, bruising on his shoulders, the serum’s healing power slowed by the freeze. She remembered what Steve had said about him being triggered, and knew she was seeing the end results of the flight that had split friend from friend. She allowed herself one last look at his face, then turned to Steve, who was standing beside her. He too was staring at his friend’s face, and she suspected he could often be found here.

“Where do we begin?”

-

They were given a small room to use, blinds pulled down so that the forest light filtered through soft and green. They sat, around a table, in silence for a moment before Steve began to speak.

“There’s someone else coming, the jet will be here in a few hours. Until then… can you tell us what you remember - _can_ you remember – about how they put in your activation words? did Bucky ever say anything about how they put in his?

No matter the number of times they’d wiped her, or put her in cryo, or beaten her until she’d lost her own name, she would always remember that. Natasha and Steve watched, concerned, as her face closed off, eyes twitching from side to side, muscles convulsing in her jaw. They didn’t speak, waiting for her to begin. The first torture was impossible to forget, was seared into her identity. When she spoke, it was in bursts, as each flash of memory blazed through her mind, incoherent sentences full of cruelty that created a chaotic picture of the pain she had endured, that they both had suffered.

By the time her words ran dry, she was sweating and shivering as if in the grip of a fever. Her hands were bleeding where her fists had driven her nails into the flesh. Abruptly she stood and left the room, and they let her go, her enhanced senses would find the way back to her room, and they understood her sudden desire to get out of this room, which seemed to echo with her words. 

Steve rested his head in his hands and his voice was broken as he spoke.

“Maybe he’s right, and I should just leave him in cryo. After all he’s been through – all that – and every mission every wipe, every beating. Who am I saving him for, me or him?”

Natasha rested a hand on his shoulder and thought carefully before speaking.

“It’s not your choice Steve. You don’t have to bear the burden of the world on your shoulders alone. Let’s find out what’s possible, then let Bucky decide. Even if you hate the choice he makes, he deserves that freedom to choose.”

Steve sighed, running his hands through his hair and turned to give Natasha a small smile, acknowledging her words, and grateful for her friendship. He was about to speak when they were interrupted by a woman knocking on the door.

“Excuse me, Agent, Captain. I wanted to let you know that the jet is arriving.”


	10. Chapter 10

The two Avengers made their way through the building, enjoying the heat outside the air-conditioned building, both squinting into the sun. It wasn’t long before a car pulled up, and the person they had been waiting for emerged.

“Ms Maximoff,” Natasha said, nodding and smiling, not knowing the other woman well. Steve was more familiar with her, drawing her into a hug, his words almost lost in her hair. “Thank you for coming.”

She stepped back, and they all entered the building, the air-con prickling their skin in contrast to the heat outside.

“I’m happy to be here Cap, but like I said, I can’t promise anything. I’m not a magician, I can’t wave a wand and make things OK.” She paused as she realised his face had dropped. “Sorry, that was harsh. I’m jet lagged and have no filters. I’ll try anything and everything, you know I will.” 

For all that Steve was itching to get started, he let Wanda settle in first. A tour of some of the sights of Wakanda’s capital city, a good meal, a good night’s sleep. She didn’t meet the Shadow, who had stayed shut in her room, her mind full of memories.

The next morning dawned humid, the threat of thunder in the air. Wanda asked to be directed to the Captain’s suite, and found him pacing nervously.

“OK Cap, I’m rested, I’m ready. Not gonna make you wait any more.” The Captain smiled at her words, acknowledging his own impatience. 

“C’mon then, come meet Bucky’s Shadow, see what you can find.”

Unlike Wanda, she had not slept well. Most of the night had seen her pacing or standing on the balcony staring out, the storm in the air making her skin tingle. She didn’t know what was going to happen the next day, what they would do to her, but it wasn’t fear for herself that kept her awake, but fear that no matter what they did, it wouldn’t be enough to save Bucky.

Eventually, as even the birds quietened down in the middle of the night, she lay down on the bed. She rolled over, as if she was still in her Hydra cell and James was just on the other side of the wall. She let her mind rest, shying away from the painful memories and allowing herself the luxury of the good ones. They were few and far between, but they were here. The good memories all centred around him, James. That was all she had left, any memories from before were gone and he was the only good thing they’d left her with. She knew it wasn’t right, wasn’t healthy, wasn’t normal, to be so focused on one person, but when everything else had been taken from her, she treasured what little was left. Her body relaxed from its usual tension as she replayed the snatched moments they had been able to claim, and when she finally fell asleep, she was smiling. 

She woke early and made her way to the cryo room, standing in front of James’s silent body. She needed this reminder to get her through what was to come, found her own strength by seeing him. Nonetheless when the captain and Wanda entered the room, she felt her heart race with anxious anticipation.

The Captain made the introductions and she relaxed again. She knew a little about this woman, she too had been a Hydra experiment. Perhaps she had gone voluntarily, but it was unlikely she had been treated gently nonetheless. Wanda at least would show no judgement at someone who had been a Hydra tool.

They moved back into the room set aside for them, all three taking one last look at the man in the cryo tube as he went. Would he think he was worth all this? 

Seated at the table, Wanda began to speak, to explain what she was about to do. 

“I need to look inside your mind, to see things that you may not want to remember, to understand how they implanted your activation words,” she began. “I know, Steve’s told me what happened, but I need to see it in your mind. I can’t…. promise it won’t hurt. I can’t promise it will be easy. But the only way I can do it, is with your co-operation. Do you agree to this?”

She nodded, even before Wanda had finished speaking. There was no doubt in her mind. “Yes, whatever you need to do, do it.” For all her brave words, she was gripping her chair tightly, jaw muscles clenched in readiness.

“I need to know your trigger words, I can use them to focus in. Can you write them down, let’s not risk what happens if you say them.” A half smile from both women at that, a slight relief in the tension of the room. She nodded, pulled a pen and paper towards herself, and wrote.

‘James. Buchanan. Barnes’. Of course. Steve, who had leant forward to watch as she wrote, flung himself back in his chair. Of course Hydra would choose those triggers, the centre of her mission, the centre of the existence that they had allowed her, was all him. How hard it must have been to hear those words every mission for the last year, when he wasn’t there. His face dropped as his thoughts turned inwards. Was it fair to ask her to put herself through all this, when she wasn’t able to give a detached answer. With every mission, every memory, built around him, it felt like using Hydra’s own methods just to save Bucky.

She watched him, seeing his thought processes played out on his face, recognised them as thoughts she’d had herself. Tentatively, unused to offering comfort, she reached out, touched his shoulder. 

“It’s my choice. Yes, they implanted that idea in me, but I’m not doing it because of Hydra. Please, trust me on this. You’re not forcing me to do anything I don’t want.”

He looked up to thank her but her attention as already back on Wanda, nodding to show readiness. He saw Wanda’s eyes flash red, saw both women’s heads slowly lean forward, as a silent struggle took place inside her mind.

Time was of no relevance inside her head, memories from the day before flying past, followed by ones from years ago. She felt Wanda’s presence in her mind, alien and uncomfortable, but invited. She knew Wanda was searching for the triggers, discarding memories of missions, looking for those first visceral memories of the triggers being implanted. She resisted the urge to hide the memories away, the shame and the fear. Steve saw her take a deep breath and sit up straight.

Then Wanda was in them, and each memory was replayed, larger than life, every sense in play. She could smell her flesh burning under the electrodes, taste the blood in her mouth, hear her own screams. It wasn’t a memory any more, it was a lived experience, replayed over and over as Wanda sought for clues. In the room, Steve watched in alarm, as Wanda’s head slumped lower, her breathing speeding up. Turning to the Shadow, he saw her eyes jerk open, bruises appearing on her face and arms, blood trickling from her ears, as her body relived its torment. Wanda had warned him not to interfere so he could only watch silently, witness to the horrors that he must blame himself for.

It was less than an hour later that suddenly, things changed. Wanda sat back in her chair, eyes closed then opening to show clear blue again. Her hands were shaking with exhaustion but her attention was all on the other woman. She had dropped her head to the table, had her hands clasped over her ears as if to shut out screams that only she could hear. He was at her side, reaching out for her, when she sat back. Her eyes were bloodshot and tear-filled, her face swollen and purple. There was a long smear of blood on the table as she sat up.

“Did it work? Did you find anything?” Her first words, not for her, but for the possibility of helping someone else. Steve had to intercede.

“Rest first, both of you. And medical treatment. We’ll talk this afternoon.” He stood, calling for help from one of the lab techs outside. “No, no arguments. Later. Now, rest.”

Both were too exhausted to put up much of a fight. Wanda was helped back to her suite while the Captain helped the Shadow back to hers. He called for a medic who confirmed no serious damage had occurred, then brought her food and water, to wash down the painkillers she’d been given. H could see her eyes already closing as she swallowed the pills, pulled a blanket over her, but gripped her hand before he left. Her eyes flashed open. 

“Thank you. I – I can’t thank you enough, for this. For Buck, for me.”

She pulled her hand out of his grasp and rolled onto her side as if the wall was in front of her still.

“For me too,” she added, as he left.

She slept for hours, waking to the sound of rain, the storm having finally broken. The air felt fresh as she stepped out onto her balcony, the mist in the air leaving tiny droplets on her bruised skin. She felt hope, for the first time in so long, and allowed herself the indulgence of imagining a future beyond Hydra, beyond missions and triggers, a future without walls and bricks and glass tubes. 

They reconvened later, in her room. The Captain bouncing with impatience and anxiety at what he might hear; Natasha calmer, her distance giving her a better perspective. Wanda entered, looking tired still. She drew in a breath at the sight of them all waiting for her, and Steve’s face fell as she looked at him with sympathy.

“Cap – Steve – I tried. I’m sorry. Seeing what they did to get those triggers in there, and after all this time. I warned you, my powers can only go so far. I can’t do anything that will free him, Captain. Not unless we had another seventy years and were willing to use the… techniques… that Hydra used. I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”


	11. Chapter 11

There was silence in the room after Wanda had finished speaking, just for a moment, before Steve suddenly burst from his seat with an explosive burst of energy.

“What do you mean Wanda, this… no, you screwed with all our minds, you manipulated us, showed us our worst fears, you played around with our thoughts, and now you’re saying you can’t do this for him?”

Wanda was sitting still and calm, she had expected a reaction like this, and knew that this was Steve’s grief and fear coming through. She watched him for a second. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest, as if to trap his hands, stop them tearing at his hair. She could feel the fury and sorrow pouring off him.

“Will you let me explain?” She was watching the other women out of the corner of her eye as well. Natasha was watching Steve, her face full of pity. Bucky’s companion – the Shadow – was withdrawn in her chair, pulled into herself, sitting on her hands, head bowed, as if she had given up every last ounce of hope.

Steve let out a sigh, sat back down again, elbows on knees, head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, I just thought… I didn’t mean to bring up….”

“It’s fine Steve. You’re right, I got inside your heads before, showed you your worst fears, manipulated your minds to release the terrors you’d hidden. Is that what you want for Bucky? You want him to face his fears? Because I’m pretty sure he’s already living with those every day.”

When the Captain spoke next, his voice was empty and broken, as if he’d finally given up. “That’s it then. He wanted to go under until there was a way to get his mind free, and… that’s it.”

He stood, needing to leave the room, get out and be alone rather than let anyone else see him break down, but before he could leave, another voice spoke.

“Wait, Captain, I… can I speak?” 

They all turned to where the Shadow was sitting in her chair. She watched as he turned, her eyes flicking between the three of them as if she was afraid she would be punished for speaking out of turn.

“I’ve been thinking, I… with Wanda’s help… I think…” she sighed, unable to get the words out, afraid of what she had to say. Steve sat back down on his chair, all his attention on her now. She sat up straighter, drew in a deep breath to prepare herself.

“Wanda’s right. You can’t magic this away, life’s not like that. But I have an idea, and I don’t know that anyone’s going to like it.” She paused but no one spoke, waiting for her to continue. “What we have to do, is to help him heal himself. Strengthen his mind, so that he can fight back. He _has_ to do this himself. I know you want to be able to fix him, to make things right for him, but he’s his own man. I watched him fight against the wipes, fight to retain his memories, for so long. He can do it. He needs to do it. He hasn’t been allowed that freedom before – when you gave him freedom, he chose cryo, but if we can explain, I think he might choose.. this.”

“Choose what? What do you want to do?”

Her eyes closed. This was the moment they would react badly to, she knew.

“Trigger him. Over and over and over.”

Her eyes shot open at the sound of laughter. Harsh, humourless laughter. Steve.

“What are you talking about?! That’s dangerous, it’s reckless, it’s pointless, it’s…”

“Wait, Steve, just hear her out. This makes sense,” Natasha spoke now for the first time. She was less emotionally involved here, had a clearer head. Steve slammed his hands down on the arms of the chair in frustration, but she continued.

“We have a team here now Captain. Wanda can shield against his attacks, if it’s needed. She can share his memories to understand what’s happening. And I… I’ll be there with him, to help him keep his own mind. It’s what I’ve always done.”

She didn’t know how to explain, to make him see her plan, but it seemed to be taking on a momentum of its own regardless. Natasha spoke next, her voice slow as she thought through her words.

“It could work Steve. Maybe this is something that only he can do, he needs to be able to regain his own mind, until he can hear the triggers and choose to resist. It’ll take a long time, and I’m guessing it won’t be a pleasant process for anyone involved, but it’s the only option we have. Let him save himself.”

They talked for hours, sometimes feeling as if they were going in circles, getting nowhere, at other times finding the shape of a plan starting to form. The sun set outside the windows, unseen, and the moon lit the room almost as bright as day.

“Steve, there’s only one thing we can do now,” Natasha said eventually, all eyes turning to her. “Wake Bucky and ask if he wants to try.”

It was a sleepless night for all of them, the anticipation of the next day keeping them awake for hours. The sun had barely risen before they were all drawn back to the cryochamber, long before any of the techs were on hand to start the process. Natasha and Wanda stood on the balcony, watching the steam start to rise from the forest around the city as the sun warmed the air. She and Steve though were drawn to the cryotube, moths to its flame. They were silent for a long time, both lost in their own thoughts, before Steve finally spoke. His voice was barely a whisper but she heard it, and found it matched her own thoughts.

“But what if he says no?”

A moment later, and the room was filled with people, as the technicians arrived to start the process. The group were pushed back to the window as medics and cryo experts started to set about their work. It wasn’t clear at what point the process began, but after a few hours of watching and listening, they saw the techs nod, and open the front of the tube. Two medics reached in, taking the sagging body under its arms, lifting it onto a gurney. IV lines were started and the body was wrapped gently in heated blankets. She could only watch and contrast this with her experience from the other side. She remembered the shock of being pulled from cryosleep; the ache in her bones with a cold that would never seem to leave the body; the disorientation, blood moving sluggishly leaving her headachy and dehydrated. There had been none of this loving attention before. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, not caring who saw, then she and Steve stepped forward.

“He’ll be a little confused for a while Sir, but within the hour he should be coherent. He’ll need to rest, to eat something solid if he can. Nothing too physical until his muscles have had a chance to recover,” the medic was saying, but neither of them could take it in. Natasha nodded, drew the medic aside to take on the final advice. “With the serum, his recovery will be fast. Within 24 hours, he’ll be fine.”

Her eyes were fixed on the man before her, last seen awake well over a year ago. She could see his eyes moving under his eyelids, his fingers twitching. Steve reached over, and put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, talking quietly to him, and emboldened, she reached for his hand. The skin was cold, marble-smooth, barely felt alive, but as she stroked his fingers and felt heat finally begin to return, she flashed back to the last time they had touched, the soft velvet of his skin against hers, shared heat. She felt her face flush at the memory, looked up to take in his face, and saw his eyes open.

He saw Steve first. She saw his eyes blink and try to focus, trying to stir up frozen memories.

“Stevie? It’s cold. I’m cold,” he said, his voice raspy as frozen muscles strained to speak.

“I know Buck. It’s OK, you’ll be warm soon.”

“You woke me up? You found a way to get my brain clear?” His voice was becoming stronger with every second, but his eyes were still fixed on Steve. She didn’t mind. So many decades of shared history here, they would always have a connection that no one could break.

“Maybe. We can talk when you’re more awake. There’s something else,” Steve said, nodding his head towards her. Bucky’s movements were still clumsy and uncoordinated as he turned his head. He didn’t speak, and for a long moment, she doubted if he remembered her. The wipe had taken so much away, perhaps he’d never regained those memories. She felt her stomach sink, tried to find something to say, tried to pull away. His fingers tightened on hers and he met her gaze.

“They found you.” His breath came faster and his eyes shone with unshed tears. He turned back to Steve. “You found her. Thank you.”

She breathed again. He knew her. Nothing else mattered for the moment.

Recovery from the cryo was uncomfortable, but with his enhancements, was faster than it could have been. Within a few hours, Bucky was sitting up and eating, his movements still a little jerky but his eyes were clear and he was talking normally now. He was sitting on the couch, a plate of food on his lap, eating with one hand, his left side pressed up close against Steve as if he needed that touch for fear of losing it again. She stood in the doorway behind them, watching, torn between pleasure that these two had each other again, after so many decades apart, and a painful envy.

He finished eating and leant forward to put the plate down, rolling his head from side to side to ease stiff muscles.

“You found her Steve, I still can’t believe it. God, I… my brain’s half frozen, where is she?” He twisted in his seat, saw her watching, beckoned her forward. “I’m sorry, the hunger, god, it just overtook me,” he said, and she smiled, remembering it herself. After cryo, the body craved food to give it the energy to generate heat, and everything else took second place.

She walked towards them, unsure what she should do. Their relationship had been one of snatched moments, secret whispers. What would it be – _would_ it be at all – with no walls or pain? He reached for her hand, pulled her down to sit beside him, still pressed up against Steve on the other side. Tangling his fingers through hers, he let his head fall back against the couch and shut his eyes.

“I need you both,” he said, his voice soft with tiredness now. “I know there’s things you’re not telling me, but for now, stay with me.” She saw Steve smile, lean back too, his head rolling towards Bucky’s until their foreheads touched, eyes closing. For now, this was enough.

Later, Steve insisted they all get some sleep, only telling his friend ‘we’ll explain tomorrow. For now, rest’ when he wanted to discuss why they’d woken him. She could see the hesitation on Steve’s face, knew that part of him wanted to stay with his friend, but after pulling him in for a hug, he left the room. Now they were alone, for the first time in more than a year. No walls, no mission. She felt uneasy and unsure.

“I’m so tired sweetheart, why does cryo sleep leave you wanting more sleep?” he smiled at her, the sight of his smile shattering her heart. What if tomorrow he chose cryo again, chose to leave again. What if this was the end of the line?

He was fading fast, body needing to recuperate, and she could see his eyes were already half closed. She pulled him over to the bed, helped him in and covered him with the blankets. His eyes were shut now as she turned to leave, but his hand shot out and caught her wrist.

“Don’t go. Please.”

It was all she needed to hear. Without a thought she slid under the blanket and curled her body into his. He wrapped his arm around her, pulled her close, his last conscious act before his body succumbed to sleep. She lay awake for longer, trying to remember every sensation, the way his breath stirred her hair, the weight of his arm, the soft silk of his skin. If he chose cryo again, this would be all that she would have.

She woke early the next morning, a knot of anxiety in her stomach at what the day would bring. Whatever decision he made, there would be suffering. She felt her fists clench with an impotent rage at the hand they’d both been dealt. No easy path through life for either of them.

“S’matter?,” he mumbled, voice heavy with drowsiness. He pulled her against his side again, let his fingertips run up and down her arm, leaving her skin tingling in its wake. There was a side to the man she didn’t know. He had been free from Hydra, living an uncontrolled life without her for a year, rediscovering who he was. She had gone from Hydra to prison, had not yet experienced her own existence. His finger continued its slow path up and down her arm, before his fingers caught hers and brought them to his lips.

“I don’t want to start the day,” he said, his voice deep enough that she could feel it rumbling in his chest. “I know there will be pain, whyever you woke me, what happened to you when I was gone. I don’t want it. I want to stay in this moment, with you.”

He sighed, and rolled onto his back, pulling her down beside him. “I can’t though, can I? There’s never a time that’s just for us.” Sighing again, he let go her hand and sat himself up, awkwardly moving with just one arm for support. He swung his legs out of bed then turned back to her. “Even the little bits with you are worth it.”

They both showered and dressed, shy around each other now. As she was helping him pull on a shirt, Steve, Natasha and Wanda arrived. They sat around the table, Natasha bringing coffee, a distraction for them all as much as anything.

“Someone start then. I told you to wake me when you could get this stuff out of my head. S’that why you’re here, Wanda?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly. It’s what we’d hoped, that by seeing how they implanted the triggers in her head, I could work out how to take them out of yours. Both of yours.”

“But?” Wanda shook her head, leaving Steve to take up the conversation.

“The only way out would be the same way they got in,” the Captain said. Bucky’s shoulders slumped. “So why’d you wake me then?”

It was his Shadow who spoke up then, desperate for him to see the value in her plan, afraid that if she explained things wrong, he’d refuse.

“You’re the only one that can do it James,” she said, as he looked at her puzzled. “You can learn to resist them. To choose not to be triggered. To fight the commands. Wanda can support your mind. I can… help you remember who you are. But you’ll have to be triggered. Again and again until you can fight it.”

He stood, walked away from the table, stared out of the window at the view in silence, a silence that weighed on everyone sitting at the table. Eventually it grew too much, and Steve began to say his name, but Bucky spoke quietly, his back still to the room.

“You want me to go through that, over and over? Turning into the man I hate, no, not even a man. A danger to everyone around me, all on the off-chance I can do what I never could before, and resist?” There was scorn in his voice, and anger, and a deep, deep hurt. Steve’s words died in his mouth, and it was left to her to react.

“But you did do it before. You _know_ that the wipes and the triggers were getting less effective, that your memories were seeping through. You _know_ that you were able to resist, that you refused to kill Steve. You’ve shown you can do it. And now, you’re not alone. I’ll be there, with you.”

“So I can hurt you too?” he asks, his voice softer now but the pain still there.

“You’ve never hurt me,” she says, and he turns to look at them all. “It’s in-built in me to protect you, and it’s in you to protect me.”

She can feel him softening, knows that his reaction was part-fear, part-disbelief. She points at Steve. “You’ve got something worth fighting for now.”

“I do,” he says, looking at her as he speaks.

-

They sketch out a plan, more to feel in control than because they really believe they can predict any of the future now. No sense of how long this might take – weeks, months – or of the price they’ll all pay. T’Challa is informed of what they are planning, and offers them a cabin, far out in the forest. ‘For privacy’, he says, although they know he wants to keep a triggered Winter Soldier as far from his people as he can.

It is the afternoon by the time they are dropped off at the cabin, watching the car drive away. The cabin is more than any of them expected, a modern building nestling in the forest, equipped with anything they could need. There is nothing stopping them now, nothing except fear. 

They have cleared a room, one that Wanda is confident she can shield. Steve, Natasha and Wanda are outside the room. Steve had argued that he should be inside but Bucky had refused, not trusting himself, not this first time.

So now it was just the two of them, facing one another in an empty room. She pulled out a piece of paper with his trigger words listed, was about to speak when he stopped her.

“Wait, when they last wiped me, they took it all, even you,” he said, voice panicky. “What if you say the words, and there’s no memory of you left. I could kill you, we can’t…”

She reaches out, puts one hand on his chest, her voice much steadier than she feels. “It’s there. I know it is. Trust me.” She has only hope at this stage, but she trusts this man with her life. Before he can speak again, she lifts the paper, and reads.

Longing.  
Rusted.  
Seventeen.  
Daybreak.  
Furnace.  
Nine.  
Benign.  
Homecoming.  
One.  
Freight Car.

She sees his face change. First the anguish and pain as the words echo in his head, then the familiar disappearing, the blank mask appearing in its place. His posture straightens, his eyes stare through her. 

“Ready to comply”

“James, I need you to fight those words. Resist them. Look at me. LOOK AT ME.” His eyes snap to hers and she sees a momentary flicker of recognition. From outside the room, she knows Wanda is part of this, her mind linked to theirs, taking any memory, any sign of resistance, replaying it, amplifying it. And now it is her turn, to try something that scares her. But he has shown courage, has trusted her enough to do this. So she must be courageous too.

“Look at me soldier. Do you know me?” His eyes meet hers but he doesn’t respond. He moves his head slightly as if aware of an unknown presence in his mind.

“Your name is James,” she falters, clenches her fists. “James. Buchanan. Barnes.” It is hard to get the words out, her body reacting with nausea as she repeats her own trigger words. She turns to one side, retches. He doesn’t move. She is aware of a voice in her head, a whisper. She stares blankly about her, an empty room, walls, window, man. Man. Soldier. The voice becomes more insistent. _Your mission, Shadow, is to make the Soldier resist his programming_. She shakes her head, this makes no sense, but the voice continues, unrelenting, imperative. Suddenly something clicks into place, and she starts to speak.

“Your name is Bucky Barnes. Your best friend is Steve Rogers. Remember. You were born on March 10th 1917. Your parents were George and Winifred Barnes. Remember. _Remember_.”

And so it went on, until she was exhausted. Wanda had pushed every slight flicker, had tried to hold on to any minute thought that had flashed across his brain, but there was so little. They hadn’t expected instant results, were grateful at least that there had been no violence, but they were all worn down with tension. Now there was another pain to face, before they could rest. They knew from the Shadow’s capture that Natasha’s Widow’s Bites had upset her programming, had freed her from the triggers. Without a chair to wipe them, they had no choice but to use them now. Bucky was still standing in the centre of the room, a blank look with a slight frown the only sign that he was listening to the woman opposite him. She was still repeating the litany that Wanda had placed in her head, her mission to help him remember. Natasha entered quietly, ready for any sign of attack, but neither had been given a mission of violence, and so she barely registered. She went for him first, one touch to the back of his head from the baton and he fell to the floor, twitching. Natasha turned to the woman but was suddenly faced with an onslaught, forced to defend herself against the Shadow. She fought like a woman possessed, as in fact she was. Although no mission briefing to protect the Soldier had been given, the directive was buried so deeply inside her, she reacted nonetheless.

Steve burst into the room, helping fight off the Shadow’s attack until finally Natasha was able to catch her a blow with the electroshock baton, and she dropped. Silence fell, broken only by the harsh breathing of Natasha and Steve.

The mood in the cabin that evening was sombre. Everyone was exhausted, and the mood was low. Steve paced angrily, frustration rolling off him in waves. He wasn’t used to feeling so powerless, to taking a back seat. He wanted to be able to jump in and save Bucky, to do something, anything. Eventually he slammed out of the cabin, walking into the forest, anything to try and exhaust himself physically. Wanda and Natasha sat talking quietly, Wanda trying to put her thoughts into order, but worn down with the effort of being inside two people’s heads for half the day. Eventually Natasha sent her off to bed, recognising that there was no path to be found when they were all exhausted. Natasha stood watching the other two, standing on the balcony together, close but not quite touching. They were speaking quietly, and she didn’t want to intrude. She left the cabin without being seen, determined to find Steve.

Out on the balcony, Bucky was in despair. He had no memory of the time he’d been triggered that day, nothing had worked and he had given up all hope. She felt the same, but refused to give in. For years, she had bolstered him, held him together. This was no different.

“Tomorrow, we’ll try with Steve there. He brought back a lot of memories before, it could make a difference. Just… give it a chance, please James?”

He turned to her, intending to say that it wasn’t worth it – he wasn’t worth it – but paused. Her face was in shadow as the sun set, but he knew it better than he knew his own. The way her skin felt, the warmth of her mouth. His memory of her was pieced together from fragments, snatched moments on missions, a construction of pieces seen through cell bars and holes in the walls, but he’d created a whole from these parts, and it was a whole that was worth fighting for.

He nodded, and saw her let out a breath that she didn’t realise she’d been holding. “OK, tomorrow. We’ll keep trying.”

-

The next morning found them back in the empty room again. All of them now, not expecting a violent reaction, but prepared for one. Steve had reached for the paper with the trigger words on, but she had taken it back.

“It’s better if he only has to forgive one of us for hurting him,” she’d said. Steve pulled her against him, his cheek against her hair.

“Thank you,” he’d said, and there was a weight of unspoken meaning behind the words.

She stood in front of him again, read the words, watched the way his fists clenched so tightly at the pain that a trickle of blood dripped onto the floor. Then emptiness, a void waiting to be filled with a mission. So she gave him one.

Steve stepped forward, talking to Bucky too, telling him to resist. The Soldier ignored the man, focussing only on the person who had said the words. She felt a thread of thought appear in her mind, wondered where it had come from.

“Soldier, listen to this man.”

Bucky’s attention turned to Steve and she waited, disinterested. The voice in her head had given her no additional mission parameters, so no action was required. Time passed, voices beside her ignored, until a sharp pain in her mind and then… she woke to herself again. 

James was just rising to his feet beside her, rubbing the back of his head where the Widow’s Bite had been. She was almost afraid to speak, but had to.

“Anything?”

He looked at her, then over at the others. It was Wanda who spoke.

“Maybe.”

It was enough. The knowledge that he could resist, even slightly, gave them all hope. And so they continued. 

Weeks went by. Weeks that they barely noticed, lost in the void of trigger words. The morning would start with the sound of triggers, then suddenly the sharp pain, and it was afternoon again. They worked on with gritted teeth, only Wanda’s reassurance that she could see change keeping them going, but it was slow, too slow, and she could see they were all close to giving up. Desperation and fear hung in the air.

Another day, much like all the others. She triggered him, watched the words burn his brain.

“Your name is James. James…”

“…My name is Bucky.”

She paused, heart racing, glanced over at the others. All eyes were on Bucky. He was staring only at her, a look of confusion on his face.

“My name is Bucky?”

She nodded, trying to hold down a smile but failing. She reached out and touched his face gently.

“Your name is Bucky.”

Progress was made in fits and starts, but there was progress. After the triggers, he found himself, and each time Wanda was able to strengthen those pathways in his brain, to fix the idea of resistance, of non-compliance. The atmosphere in the cabin was one of near-hysteria at times as the anxiety faded away and adrenaline carried them through the exhaustion. The world had shrunk to these four walls, these five people, those ten words. The outside world meant nothing and life was measured out in tiny victories.

And then.

“Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight Car.”

Nothing. No response. She looked at his face, blank and still, eyes staring straight ahead, cold and hard. This was different. No ‘ready to comply’, no reaction at all. She started to turn, to look at Steve a pace behind her, but then he moved, looked at her. His eyes glinted, mouth quirked up on one side.

“Not feelin’ like complying today.”

His mouth stretched wide in a grin at his prank as they all started shouting, laughing, screaming. Steve grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him tight, pulling back then pulling him in again, his eyes shining with tears that ran unchecked down his face. She stood, open mouthed, in shock, staring at him. She’d never doubted that he could do it, could find a way to resist the Soldier being activated, and yet now that it had happened, she was struck dumb with disbelief. There was an end, there was peace and rest and hope again.

Steve let go of Bucky finally, Bucky’s hand gripping the back of his neck as they rested their foreheads together for a moment. No need to speak, there were no words that could match this, no way to say sorry, or thank you, or I love you, enough. It didn’t matter, they both knew. Steve turned to Wanda and Natasha, drawing them both into an excited and overwhelmed hug, trying to show them his appreciation but unable to speak.

Bucky turned to his Shadow, standing quietly watching him, a smile on her face as wide as his.

“This’ll be my battle every day. I might never hear those words again, but if Hydra kept another copy of that book, who knows. I’m not risking it. I’ve got something that’s made it a struggle worth fighting for.”

He stepped forward, eyes not leaving hers for a second, and for the first time ever in his presence, she felt nervous. Not for fear he might hurt her, but for what all this could mean. Her mouth twitched slightly.

“Steve, right?,” she said, and he threw back his head and laughed, pulling her against him. She felt the warmth of his muscles against her cheek where it rested on her chest, let her hand slide around his waist and up his back, muscles moving under her touch. He pulled her in closer, his hand hot against the small of her back, then skimming up to grip her hair gently, tilting her head back. His eyes locked onto hers again and she could see them clear of pain for the first time, his face showing gratitude for the strength she’d given him. Gratitude and love. She shut her eyes, still seeing his face in her mind, as he bent down to kiss her, soft brushes against her lips at first, then firmer, more insistent. Uncontrolled. Free. Like him.


End file.
